
































\\ v 

V A * 0 /■ 


r ■ > * - 0 s 

A 0 V C* V' * 

^ «A o WW'vvf " C^> <<, 

<P- ^ l{/ Jg&XjT * 

'A- * '•'' & -i oV 

k l B , %> J 0 * K % £ k r C A "TVs s ' < 

\ A % A 

x c^Sx' '1^ 4/1 \\ V 

■< ^ V 

O O' 


.\"0 N 
/A A- 


A . % 

•4? 'P ^ ^ 

A> </> 2 




-V 


S‘ ^ 


r . °° ; ^ ** * : © o* 

^ ^ n 00 ^ ** 

5 v< < C°v 3 * o \>^ * 

V* * ^'\3 £A "o A* * t %> aV * A "o 

* a ; A v, z v* <5> ° ^S pju<- <A (^v « ;v v.' r •;. 

— o iX^‘ , r> 7 % A- ® C Cf. j '-Al ll — '”*’ - 


>*% A-v • v wvr , ., 

AA'^V ^'"'/^'“‘‘o^ ^°“ c " 

~ A V / ° 4 0 / 

„ ^ V „ * 'K~, rs\ 

*>. * ~^y/jyM v 

%N ^ 

A < s * * / 




A Q X 


^ *♦ <s u' -i ov * ,, > r 'o, * ^ 

via. '^> V 0 * A A < A/^ ' A O y o « 

— o 0> c" NC * % ** A ..'■*« A 

$ fj. S' sum* * ^ 

c <* ^ *> 

<■ .0O y * 

A «’>* ✓ 

5 N 0 ' ^ ^ + ? M „ X , 0 °* ''b ^ i, 

0 ^*o, > 91 5N ° v- x A^ 

* - A. 



$++ % 



> A 

A. 



'f * ; v ., . v v 

" ' - a v 'V * * s s - 

• ^ - > . ‘ ; P v* * 

r> a, fe S ^ o V' - / 

A- y o •? >. ^ <0 <* ^ / 

,' 0 v c° / « A* 


''^ ' ,A % 

% ** ./ .'"‘^ <■ 
v -- 





0 ' c 0 c <- A* 

c V/'AJ ' * 


bg s * * 

^msA' ^ ^ '' 

* p.0 c* o»^ A, ^ 

« i \ * v° * * ^ * a s o ^ V ^ V », n » j 

^ *<• v, ,%y,A ^ A^' 

- - . *M: 

A' </»•_ / s ;A3xAv » t a 

v °,VlS:./ * «?’ "%. . 

, ^ A • 

1 * * 

v 


>A w» V \T ^ V> <?• 15 WTSa# 

^ y 0 , X * 46 ^ / ft <, s s 

‘ ^ ?A r o^ c 0 x c -p A, 

' — ' L> *> ^Y. a- 'P J 

? ^ _ a - A W - Kp 

/V. „\ e -r XiSAwl I -A«* y * y . Vp 


#? ^ x 

ks A A . 


X? 

Z 

o 


v i fi /, 



A A. 




•a 

* o 

c>v . N 'j r~> o> 

^ ° t- # « /liP, - ^ ,# ' 

S'* % z ^.v/zr^2S\\'x>^ "“ v 

r 


CL »> * or rU i t ^Cs(A'~" x ’ 

o v # e- »TT.” 

\> » ' * » f > * 1 o 

*• " “ * - a- 4 ’ 

% / 


y 1 


W o 

^ »S^ 


r> > 



■ft 

* 

0 M 0 

0 

’, G> 


V 







THE 


THREE SAPPHIRES 


• \/ BY 

W. AV FRASER 

AUTHOR OF “FOOL’S GOLD,” ETC. 


ILLUSTRATED BY 



GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY 



Copyright , 1918, 

By George H. Doran Company 



NOV 30 1918 


Copyright , 1918, by Street Smith Corporation 
Printed in the United States of America 


©CI.A506743 


ILLUSTRATIONS 


THERE WAS A COUGHING ROAR AND A LEOPARD, 

TURNED BY THE SHOT, BOUNDED INTO THE 

jungle Frontispiece ^ 



PAGE 

PUNDIT BAGH SHOT INTO THE AIR A QUIVERING MASS 

OF GOLD AND BRONZE IN THE SUNLIGHT . 

72 

GREAT AS WAS THE ELEPHANT’S STRENGTH, SHE 
COULD NOT BREAK THE PYTHON’S DEADLY CLASP 

140 ^ 

THE GRAY STALLION’S THUNDERING GALLOP ALL BUT 
DROWNING THE BLASPHEMOUS REPROACH 

00 




















































* 



















































PART ONE 

























































THE 

THREE SAPPHIRES 


PART ONE 
Chapter I 

F ROM where they were on the marble terrace 
that reached from the palace to a little lake 
— the Lake of the Golden Coin — Lord Vic- 
tor Gilfain and Captain Swinton could see the intri- 
cate maze of Darpore City’s lights down on the 
plain, six miles away. 

Over the feather-topped sal forest behind the 
palace a gorgeous moon was flooding the earth with 
light, turning to ribbons of gold the circling ripples 
on the jade lake, where mahseer and burbel splashed 
in play. 

Rajah Darpore was leaning lazily against the fret- 
work marble balustrade just where the ghat steps 
dipped down under the water. He was really Prince 
Ananda, the shazada, for down in the city of glitter- 
ing lights still lived his father, the maharajah; but it 
had become customary to address the prince as rajah. 

A servant came and took their empty sherry 
glasses. 

Prince Ananda was saying in his soft Oriental 
9 


10 


THE THREE SAPPHIRES 


voice that the Oxford training had set to truer 
rhythm: “After that gallop up in the tonga I always 
find it restful to come out here and have my sherry 
and bitters before dinner.” 

“It’s ripping; I mean that.” And Lord Victor 
Gilfain stretched his slim arm toward the blinking 
lights of Darpore. 

“I hope you’re comfortable in the bungalow,” the 
prince said solicitously. U I hadn’t time when you ar- 
rived this morning to see just how you were placed. 
I haven’t any bungalows up here, either; they’re all 
in the cantonments.” 

“We’re fitted up regal,” Lord Victor answered; 
“horses, servants — everything.” 

“Well, I’m very glad you came,” Ananda said. 
“At Oxford we often talked about the shooting you 
were to have here, didn’t we?” 

“Rather.” 

“But I never thought Earl Craig would let you 
come. Having lived in India in his younger days, I 
fancied he’d be gun-shy of the country.” 

Lord Victor laughed. “I got marching orders 
from the gov’nor.” 

The prince tapped a cigarette on the marble rail, 
lighted it from the fireball a watchful servant glided 
into range with, blew a puff of smoke out toward the 
little lake, and, with a smile, murmured dreamily: 
“I wonder if I knew the girl?” 

“You didn’t, old chap; though you’ve pipped the 
gov’nor’s idea all right. Swinton here is my keeper; 
he’s supposed to be immune.” 


THE THREE SAPPHIRES 


11 


“Well, you’re safe at Darpore. There’s abso- 
lutely nobody here just now. Everybody’s in Cal- 
cutta.” 

“I fancy the gov’nor cabled out to ask about that 
before he packed me off.” And Gilfain chuckled, a 
tribute to his reputation for gallantry. 

“I should say you’re in good hands, too.” Anan- 
da’s white teeth showed in a smile that irritated Swin- 
ton. When Prince Ananda had met them at the train 
Swinton had seen his black eyes narrow in a hard 
look. He had been wondering if the prince knew 
his real position — that he was Captain Herbert, of 
the secret service. But that was impossible. Prob- 
ably the prince was mistrustful of all Europeans. 

Then Ananda resumed, in an introspective way: 
“That’s England all over ; they’re as much afraid of 
breaking caste by marrying lower down as we are 
here. In fact” — Darpore raised his hand and 
pointed to the distant city — “the maharajah is sit- 
ting yonder, probably in his glass prayer room, lis- 
tening to some wandering troubadour singing the 
amorous love songs of ‘Krishna and the Milkmaids,’ 
and his mind is quite at rest, knowing that the Brah- 
man caste is so strong that it protects itself in the 
way of misalliance.” 

“But you?” Lord Victor blurted out boyishly. 
“Damn it, prince, you put your caste under the pil- 
low at Oxford!” 

Ananda laughed. “Personally it is still under the 
pillow. You see, when I crossed the ‘black water’ 
I broke my caste. When the time comes that it is 


12 


THE THREE SAPPHIRES 


necessary for the welfare of Darpore state that I 
take it on again — well, I may. To tell you the truth, 
the maharajah is not a Brahman at all; he’s some- 
thing very much greater, if he’d only think so; he’s 
a rajput of the Kshatri caste, the warrior caste.” 

Swinton, sitting back in his chair, had closed his 
eyes, experiencing a curious pantomimic effect in lis- 
tening to the English voice leisurely drawling these 
curiously startling sentiments; then when he opened 
them suddenly there was the lithe figure of the Ori- 
ental, the Indian prince. It didn’t ring true; there 
was a disturbing something about it that kept his 
nerves tingling. Perhaps it was that he had come 
to delicately investigate. 

“And this,” Ananda continued, indicating the pal, 
ace and the sal forest beyond. “I mean my desirg 
for this and not that” — and the ruby point of hia 
cigarette enveloped with a sweeping gesture the city 
in the plain — “is because of a Raj Gond cross away 
back. They were primitive nature worshippers — 
tiger gods and all that. Listen!” He held up a 
finger, his eyes tense, as from high up on the hills, 
deep in the forest, came the hoarse, grating call of 
a leopard. Immediately from just behind the palace 
the call was taken up and answered by another 
leopard. 

“By Jove!” Gilfain sprang to his feet. 

The prince laughed. “That’s one of my captives; 
I’ve got quite a menagerie. We’ll see them in the 
day, first time you’re out. That’s the Raj Gond 
taint. I couldn’t stand it down there, so the maha- 


THE THREE SAPPHIRES 13 

rajah let me build this bungalow up here. This 
whole plateau we’re on contains a buried city. Who 
built it or who lived in it nobody knows. The mar- 
ble you see in the palace was all taken from the 
buildings beneath the roots of these sal trees. I’ll 
show you something; we’ve got time before the others 
arrive for dinner.” 

He led the two men down wide, marble steps to 
the water’s edge, and indicated a cable, the end of 
which, coming up out of the lake, crept into the bank 
beneath a large marble slab. 

“What’s it attached to?” Lord Victor asked. 

“This lake is artificial. If it were daylight, and 
we were up on the bank, we could see seven of them. 
The story of this cable runs that when the king of this 
city that is buried was dying he commanded that all 
his jewels and weapons and his body be placed in a 
golden boat and sunk in the centre of this lake. They 
say the boat is attached to the other end of this cable; 
I don’t know.” 

“Has anybody ever tried to pull it up?” Swinton 
asked, still feeling that he was helping on the panto- 
mime. 

“Yes; once an avaricious nawab got together sev- 
eral elephants and many men, and, fastening to the 
cable, started to pull the boat up. It came easily at 
first, but just when they all got very careless and were 
starting to rush it the magic thing slipped back, pull- 
ing them in, and they were all drowned. There’s a 
legend that if a holy man stands here at midnight of 
a full moon when the mhowa tree is in bloom, with 


14 


THE THREE SAPPHIRES 

the three sacred sapphires of our mythology in his 
hand, the king will rise in his golden boat if the holy 
man has been ordained of the gods to be a leader of 
his people.” 

Back on the terrace, Prince Ananda asked: “Were 
you in the service out here, captain?” Very inconse- 
quential was the tone of this query that was so 
pointed in reality. 

“I was on the Bombay side for a time; my health 
petered out, and I had to go back to Belati.” 

“I see the lights of Major Finnerty’ s dogcart com- 
ing up the hill,” Ananda announced. 

“Coming to dinner with us — any ladies, prince?” 
Lord Victor queried. 

“No; this is what I call a pilkana or play dinner. 
After we’ve dined I’m going to show you some In- 
dian tamasha. I asked Finnerty because he’s great 
on these jungle friends of mine — should be able to 
find you some tiger; I don’t shoot.” 

The moon showed an apologetic smile curving the 
lips clear of his brilliant white teeth as Ananda, turn- 
ing to Swinton, added: “I never kill any of them 
myself; I’m a Buddhist in that way.” 

“Do you believe in reincarnation, prince?” Gilfain 
questioned. 

“I’m afraid I don’t believe in anything that’s not 
demonstrable; but I do know that it is a good thing 
to not take life. Finnerty is the government keddah 
sahib here, and I’m going to ask his help in giving 
you some sport, Gilfain. My private archaeologist, 
Doctor Boelke, is coming for dinner also. The 


THE THREE SAPPHIRES IS 

trouble about him is the more he drinks the more 
Teutonically sombre he becomes.” 

The prince excused himself, saying: “I think 
they’re pretty well coming together.” 

The two men could hear a heavy tonga clatter up, 
followed by the light, whirring grind of dogcart 
wheels and a medley of voices. As a group came 
through the palace, Swinton could hear the heavy 
guttural of a German’s “Ach, Gott!” about some- 
thing unpleasing. 

There was a brief introduction and an immediate 
departure to the dining room. 

After dinner, as they sat at little tables on the 
moonlit terrace over their coffee and cheroots, Major 
Finnerty, taking from his pocket an oval stone the 
size of a hen’s egg, said: “I’ve got a curiosity, prince; 
I wonder if you can read the inscription on it.” 

“What is it, major?” Darpore asked as he held it 
toward an electric lamp on the table. 

“It’s a very fine sapphire in the rough. Where 
the end has been cut it is of the deepest pigeon blue.” 

“I can’t read the characters because they are Per- 
sian, and I only know the Devanagari, but Professor 
Boelke can,” and Ananda passed it to the German. 

“Yes, it is Persian,” Doctor Boelke said. With 
a pencil he wrote on a piece of paper some strange- 
looking characters. “It means Rikaz, and is noth- 
ing of mystery.” 

Swinton, who was watching the German’s eyes, 
felt that they were passing some hidden meaning to 
the prince. 


16 


THE THREE SAPPHIRES 


u Rikaz means a mine,” Doctor Boelke continued; 
“a place vhere stones or metal are found; dot’s all.” 

Swinton intercepted the stone on its way back, and 
after examining it passed it on. 

“Dot is a big sapphire, major,” Boelke said; 
“vhere did you get it ? And for vat is der hole on der 
other end from der inscription?” 

“It’s a curious story,” Finnerty answered. “A 
jungle hethni — female elephant — came down out of 
the forest and walked right in on us, by Jove! I’ll 
describe Burra Moti; that’s what we call her, the Big 
Pearl. She’s a female with large tusks ; she has four 
toes on each hind foot, and I haven’t another elephant 
that has more than three. She’s different in other 
ways ; has two fingers on the end of her trunk instead 
of one; she has immense ears and a hollow back; she 
never lies down.” 

Doctor Boelke leaned forward, adjusted his big 
glasses, and said: “My friend, you haf described an 
African elephant.” 

“Yes,” the major answered; “that’s what Burra 
Moti is.” 

“I admit it’s some mystery,” Finnerty said slowly; 
“it has bothered me. All I know is that Burra Moti, 
who is undoubtedly an African, came down out of 
the jungle to the keddah because she was going to 
calve. What taught her that she’d be safe with her 
calf in the keddah I don’t know; where she came 
from I don’t know. Around her neck was a strap of 
sambur skin to which was attached a bell, and morn- 
ing and evening, at a certain hour, Burra Moti would 


THE THREE SAPPHIRES 


17 

reach up with her trunk and ring the bell. Last 
evening the mahout didn’t hear it at the usual hour 
— eight o’clock — so he went down to where Burra 
Moti stood under a big tamarind tree and found a 
native — looked to be a hillman — crushed flat where 
she had put her big foot on him. Beside him lay the 
bell, and the strap had been cut with a sharp knife. 
The bell was flattened out of shape, Moti in her rage 
evidently having stepped on it. The clapper of that 
bell was this sapphire, hung by the little hole in the 
end.” 

“By Jove !” Lord Victor ejaculated. “My gov’nor 
would give a few sovs for that sapphire; he’s en- 
tirely daffy on the subject of Indian curios.” 

“If it’s for sale I’ll give a thousand rupees for it, 
major,” the prince added. 

“I’ve got to fix that bell up again for Burra Moti,” 
Finnerty answered; “she’s been in a towering rage 
all day — keeps slipping her trunk up to her neck like 
a woman looking for a necklace she has lost.” 

“Oh, I say!” Gilfain expostulated. “Rather tall- 
ish order, old chap, don’t you think? Almost too 
deuced human, what?” 

Major Finnerty turned in his leisurely way to Gil- 
fain: “If a chap spends several years with elephants 
he’ll come devilish near believing in reincarnation, 
my young friend.” Then, addressing Darpore more 
particularly, he added: “I want to tell you one ex- 
traordinary thing Burra Moti did when her calf was 
born. The little one was as though it were dead, not 


18 


THE THREE SAPPHIRES 


breathing. With her front foot the mother pressed 
the calf’s chest in and out gently — artificial respira- 
tion if you like, gentlemen — and kept it up until the 
calf breathed naturally. But I’m sorry to say the 
little one died next day.” 

Swinton waited for some comment on the sapphire- 
clappered bell. He now asked: “Do you suppose, 
major, it was just a bell that the thief wanted?” 

“No; that native had never been seen around the 
lines before. It’s not likely he would slip into a 
strange place and take chances of being killed for a 
thing of not much value — a bell.” 

“Perhaps it’s one of those bally sacred things,” 
Lord Victor interjected. 

Swinton saw Ananda’s eyes send a swift glance to 
the German’s face. 

“Well,” Finnerty said meditatively, “I think the 
thief knew of the sapphire stone in that bell, and 
it may have belonged to some temple; I mean Burra 
Moti may have been a sacred elephant.” 

“If that were the case,” Darpore objected, “they’d 
come and claim the elephant.” 

“The stone being in the rough, there must be a 
mine near where the elephant was equipped with the 
bell,” Swinton suggested. 

“I had an idea,” Finnerty said, “that if I rode 
Burra Moti off into the jungle and let her drift she 
might go back to where she came from; I might 
find the mine that way.” 

As Finnerty ceased speaking the high-pitched 
voice of a woman singing floated down to them from 


THE THREE SAPPHIRES 


19 


higher up on the hill. Ananda clapped his hands; 
a servant slipped from a door in the palace, and, 
salaaming deeply, listened to an order from the 
prince. When he re-entered the palace the row of 
lights that had illumined the terrace went out, leav- 
ing the sitters in the full glamour of a glorious moon. 

Ananda made a gesture toward the hill from which 
the weird chant came. “That is the Afghan love 
song,” he explained. “The girl represents a princess 
who was in love with a common soldier. After a 
great battle she went out on the plain, searching for 
him among the wounded and slain; so now this girl 
will come down in her singing search.” 

The listeners could now make out the weird music 
of the many-stringed fiddle that a companion played 
as accompaniment to the girl’s voice. The prince 
swept his hand toward the great disk of silver that 
had lifted above the sal trees, saying: “My people 
believe that luminous, dead planet up there is the 
soul, purusha , of Brahm the Creator; fitting light 
for the path of a princess who is singing out of the 
desolation of her soul.” 

Nearer and nearer came the wailing plaint of the 
girl looking for her dead soldier. Once its vibrant 
tone stirred the leopard in his cage, and he called: 
“Wough-wa, wough-wa, wah!” 

“That’s ‘Pard’s’ mating call,” the prince explained. 
“Even he, jungle devil, feels something in that love 
song — in the sorrowing voice that does not anger 
him.” 

A peacock, wakened from his sleep by the leopard, 


THE THREE SAPPHIRES 


20 

sent out a warning call to jungle dwellers that a killer 
was afoot. “Meough, meough, meough!” he cried 
in shrill discordancy. 

The song of love-search drifted in from the sal 
trees, through the mango tope beyond the palace, 
along the banks of the Lake of the Golden Coin, and 
up the ghat steps to the terrace. 

In the moonlight the girl’s face, as she came slow- 
ly up the steps, was beautiful ; her grace of movement 
was exquisite. Followed by the musician, she passed 
along the terrace with no notice of the prince or his 
guests. At the far end, she dropped to her knees be- 
side a figure that had lain there — her slain soldier 
lover. She lifted his head into her lap, and the song 
rose in an intensity of lament; then it died down to a 
croon; the desolate woman’s head drooped until her 
luxuriant hair shrouded the soldier’s face. Suddenly 
the crooning chant was stilled; the girl’s face thrust 
up through its veil of hair, and the eyes, showing a 
gleam of madness in the moonlight, swept the vault 
above. 

“She has become crazed by the death of her lover,” 
the prince explained softly. As the girl commenced 
a low chant he added: “She now asks of the gods 
what she must do to receive back his life. She thinks, 
in her madness, they answer that if she dances so that 
it pleases Krishna the soldier will be restored to life.” 

Tenderly the girl laid the head of her lover down, 
kissing him on the staring eyes, and then commenced 
a slow, sinuous dance, the violin, with its myriad wire 
strings, pulsating with sobs. The soft, enveloping 


THE THREE SAPPHIRES 21 

moon shimmer lent a mystic touch of unreality to 
the elfin form that seemed to float in rhythmic waves 
against the dark background of the sal forest. Faster 
and faster grew the dance, more and more weird 
the wail of the violin, and the plaint from the girl 
for her lover’s life became a frenzied cry. Now she 
had failed; her strength was gone; death still held 
in its cold fingers the heart of her lover; she reeled 
in exhausted delirium, but, as she would have fallen, 
the lover rose from death and caught her to his 
breast. 

But the gift of the gods — his life — had been but 
transitional — a bitter mockery — for the princess lay 
dead against his pulsing heart. Smothering the un- 
responsive eyes and lips with kisses, he gently placed 
the girl upon the ground, and, standing erect, defied 
the gods — called them to combat. 

Prince Ananda interpreted the words and gestures 
of the gladiator as the moonlight painted in gold and 
copper his bronze form. 

In answer to his challenge a sinister form glided 
from the shadow of the wall. 

“Bhairava, the evil black god, who rides abroad 
at night,” Ananda explained, adding, as the combat 
began: “They are two Punjabi wrestlers. The lover 
is Balwant Singh, which means ‘Strong Lion;’ Bhai- 
rava, whom you see is so grotesquely painted black, 
is Jai Singh, ‘Lion of Victory.’ ” 

The struggle was Homeric, as Balwant Singh, the 
muscles on his back rising in ridges, strove to conquer 
the black god. In vain his strength, for the god, 


22 


THE THREE SAPPHIRES 


sinuous as a serpent, slipped from the lover’s grasp 
with ease. At last Jai Singh’s black arm lay across 
the lover’s throat, anchored to the shoulder by a 
hand grip ; there was a quick twist to the arm, a chok- 
ing gasp from Balwant Singh, and, with startling 
suddenness, he was on his back, both shoulders 
pinned to the mat. 

The tragic drama was at an end. The lover, slain 
by the gods he had defied, lay beside his dead prin- 
cess. 

“Ripping!” Lord Victor cried. “In Drury Lane 
that would cause no end of a sensation as a panto- 
mime. Hello! By Jove! Isay!” 

For even as the young man cackled, some heavy 
shadow, some mystic trick of the Orient, had faded 
from their eyes the three figures of the drama. 

Prince Ananda, with a soft laugh at Gilfain’s as- 
tonishment, said: “Bharitava, the evil god, has 
spirited the lover and the princess away.” 

“My friends, dot to me brings of importance a 
question,” Doctor Boelke commented. “How is it 
dot a few Englishmen rule hundreds of millions, and 
we see dot der Hindus are stronger as der white 
man; no Englishman could wrestle those men.” 

“I fancy it’s hardly a question of what we call 
brute force where England governs,” Swinton 
claimed. 

“Oh, of course!” And Doctor Boelke laughed. 
“England alvays ruling people because of philan- 
thropy. Ah, yes, I hear dot!” 

“Do you mean to say, sir” — and Lord Victor’s 


THE THREE SAPPHIRES 23 

voice was pitched to a high treble of indignation — 
“that we have no' wrestlers at home as good as these 
Hindu chaps? Damn it, sir, it’s rot! A man like 
Fitzalban, who was at Oxford in my last year, 
would simply disjoint these chaps like wooden dolls.” 

The doctor puffed his billowy cheeks in disdain, 
and Finnerty contributed: “Don’t underrate these 
Punjabi wrestlers, my young friend; there are dev- 
ilish few professionals even who can take a fall out 
of them.” 

“The major should know,” and Darpore nodded 
pleasantly; “he has grappled with the best that come 
out of the Punjab.” 

Gilfain, his spirit still ruffled by the Prussian’s 
sneer at England, declared peevishly: “I wish there 
was a chance to test the bally thing; I’d bet a hun- 
dred pounds on the Englishman, even if I’d never 
sejen him wrestle.” 

Boelke, with a sibilant smack of his lips, retorted: 
“You are quite safe, my young frient, with your hun- 
dred pounds, because, you see, there is no English- 
man here to put der poor Hindu on his back.” 

“I’m not quite so sure about that, Herr Doctor.” 

Boelke turned in his chair at the deliberate, chal- 
lenging tone of Finnerty’s voice. He looked at the 
major, then gave vent to an unpleasant laugh. 

“There is one thing a Britisher does not allow to 
p ass — a sneer at England by a German.” Finnerty 
hung over the word “German.” 

“Veil,” the doctor asked innocently, “you vil prove 
I am wrong by wrestling der Punjabi, or are we to 


24 THE THREE SAPPHIRES 

fight a duel?” And again came the disagreeable 
laugh. 

“If the prince has no objection, I don’t know why 
I shouldn’t take a fall out of one of these chaps. 
It’s a game I’m very fond of.” 

I “And, Herr Doctor, I’ll have you on for the hun- 
dred,” Lord Victor cried eagerly. 

“Just as you like, major,” the prince said. 
( “There’ll be no loss of caste, especially if we sit on 
our sporting friend over there and curb his betting 
propensities.” 

“Right you are, rajah,” Finnerty concurred. “We 
wrestle just to prove that Britain is not the poor old 
effete thing the Herr Doctor thinks she is.” 

Prince Ananda sent for his secretary, Baboo Chun- 
der Sen, and when the baboo came said: “Ask Jai 
Singh if he would like to try a fall with the major 
sahib.” 

Balwant Singh came back with the baboo when he 
had delivered this message. Salaaming, he said: 
“Huzoor, the keddah sahib has his name in our land, 
the Land of the Five Rivers. We who call men of 
strength brothers say that he is one of us. No one 
from my land has come back boasting that he has 
conquered the sahib. Jai Singh, in the favor of the 
gods, has achieved to victory over me, so Jai Singh 
will meet with the sahib.” 

“Fine!” Finnerty commented. “I’ll need wrest- 
ling togs, prince.” 

“The baboo will take you to my room and get a 
suit for you.” 


THE THREE SAPPHIRES 


25 


Finnerty put the sapphire in a silver cigarette box 
that was on the table, saying: “I’ll leave this here,” 
and followed Chunder Sen into the palace. 

“Devilish sporting, I call it; Finnerty is Irish, but 
he’s a Britisher,” Gilfain proclaimed. “He’ll jolly 
well play rugby with your friend, Herr Boelke.” 

“In my country ve do not shout until der victory 
is obtained; ve vill see,” and the doctor puffed nois- 
ily at his cheroot. 

But the fish eyes of the professor were conveying 
to Prince Ananda malevolent messages, Swinton fan- 
cied. The whole thing had left a disturbing impres- 
sion on his mind; Boelke’s manner suggested a pre- 
arrangement with the prince. 

The doctor’s unpleasing physical contour would 
have furnished strong evidence against him on any 
charge of moral obliquity. He sat on the chair like 
a large -paunched gorilla, his round head topping the 
fatty mound like a coconut. His heavy-jowled face 
held a pair of cold, fishy eyes; coarse hair rose in an 
aggressive hedge from the seamed, low forehead, 
and white patches showed through the iron-grey 
thatch where little nicks had been made in the scalp 
by duelling swords at Heidelberg. He was a large 
man, but the suggestion of physical strength was de- 
stroyed by a depressing obeseness. 

A tall, fine-looking rajput came across the terrace 
toward Darpore. 

“Ah, Darna Singh,” the prince greeted, rising; 
“you are just in time to see a kushti that will delight 
your warrior heart. This is my brother-in-law, Na- 


THE THREE SAPPHIRES 


wab Darna Singh,” he continued, turning to Swinton 
and Gilfain and repeating their entitled names. 

The rajput salaamed with grave dignity, saying 
the honour pleased him. 

“Have a seat,” Ananda proffered. 

“I have intruded, rajah,” Darna Singh explained, 
“because there is trouble at the temple. The ma- 
hanta is at the gate ” 

“Show him in, Darna. I can’t see him privately 
just now; the keddah sahib and Jai Singh are going 
to make kushti .” 

While the rajput went to the gate for the mahan- 
ta, Prince Ananda said apologetically: “Even a 
prince must show deference to the keeper of the 
temple.” 

Darna Singh returned, accompanied by an animat- 
ed skeleton of mummy hue. Draping the skin-cov- 
ered bones was a loin cloth and a thread that hung 
diagonally from one shoulder to the waist. 

With a deep salaam, the mahanta, trembling with 
indignation, panted: “Dharama comes in the morn- 
ing with his Buddhistic devils to desecrate the temple 
by placing in it that brass Buddha — accursed image ! 

, — he has brought from the land of Japan.” 

“Ah!” The exclamation was from Lord Victor 
as Finnerty appeared. 

“Here, Darna,” Ananda cried, “hold the mahan-j 
ta till this is over ; I don’t want to miss it.” 

Darna Singh led the Brahmin beyond the table at 
which the sahibs were grouped, explaining that Prince 
Ananda would speak to him presently. 


THE THREE SAPPHIRES 


n 

Now Finnerty, coming into the light, slipped a 
robe from his shoulders and stood beside Jai Singh, 
looking like a sculptured form of ivory. 

Swinton caught his breath in a gasp of admira- 
tion; he had never seen such a superb being. Jai 
Singh, that a moment before had seemed of match- 
less mould, now suffered by comparison. Each move 
of the Irishman was like the shifting of a supple 
gladiator. The shoulders, the loins, the overlapping 
muscles of his arms were like those of Hercules. 

Lord Victor was muttering: “My word! Poor 
old decadent England — what!” 

Several times as he sat there Swinton had felt vi- 
brant thrills, as if eyes that blazed with intensity 
were on him, and always as he had turned in answer 
to the unseen influence he had instinctively looked to 
a jalousied balcony above them. Now he caught 
the glint of white fingers between the leaves of the 
lattice as if a hand vibrated them. He could have 
sworn Finnerty’s erect head had drooped in recog- 
nition. 

From the first grapple there was evident savagery 
on the part of Jai Singh. He had toyed leisurely 
with Balwant; now he bore in like a savage beast. 

“By gad!” Lord Victor growled once, “that Hin- 
du bounder is fighting foul!” 

Finnerty had gone to his hands and knees in de- 
fence. The Punjabi, lying along the arched back, 
thrust his right hand under the major’s armpit as 
if seeking for a half-Nelson; but his hand, creeping 
up to the neck, straightened out to thrust two fingers 


28 


THE THREE SAPPHIRES 


into Finnerty’s nostrils, the big thumb wedged against 
the latter’s windpipe. In a flash the white man was 
in a vise, for Jai Singh had gripped the wrist of his 
fouling arm with his left hand, and was pressing the 
forearm upon the back of his opponent’s neck. 

In his foul endeavour Jai Singh had lost defence. 
A hand took him by the left wrist, a corkscrew twist 
broke his hold, and he commenced to go over for- 
ward in tortured slowness, drawn by the wracking 
pain of his twisted joints. One of his shoulder blades 
lay against the mat when, by a mighty wrench, he 
freed his wrist and pirouetted on his round bullet 
head clear of Finnerty’s clutch. 

Again, as they stood hand to shoulder, making a 
feint as if to grapple, Jai Singh tried a foul. The 
heel of Finnerty’s palm, thrust with dynamic force 
upward, caught him under the chin with such power 
that he all but turned a complete somersault back- 
ward. 

This was too much for Lord Victor. With a cry 
of “Well bowled, old top!” he sprang to his feet, in 
his excitement careening his glass of whisky and 
soda, the liquid splashing across the fat legs of Doc- 
tor Boelke. 

Like a hippopotamus emerging from a pool, 
Boelke reared upward; the table, at a thrust from 
his hand, reeled groggily on its frail legs and then 
volplaned, shooting its contents over the marble 
floor. 

“Never mind,” Prince Ananda admonished; 
“leave it to the servants.” 


THE THREE SAPPHIRES 


29 


Finnerty was wrestling with caution — waiting for 
the inevitable careless chance that would give him 
victory. 

Jai Singh’s foul tactics confirmed Swinton’s sus- 
picion that the bout was a prearranged plot; the 
Punjabi was acting under orders. The captain had 
served in the Punjab and knew that native wrestlers 
were not given to such practices. He watched Prince 
Ananda, but the latter’s immobile face gave no sign 
of disapproval. 

A startled gasp from Lord Victor caused him to 
look at the wrestlers. He had seen enough of 
wrestling to know what had happened. Jai Singh’s 
weight rested on one leg he had crooked behind Fin- 
nerty’s knee joint, and he was pulling up against this 
wedge the major’s foot by a hold on the big toe. It 
was a barred hold in amateur wrestling; a chance to 
administer pain, instead of an exhibition of strength 
or agility. The captain felt, with a sense of defeat, 
that Finnerty must yield to the pain or have his leg 
broken. 

There was a hideous grin of triumph on the face 
of Jai Singh. Then, almost before Swinton’s brain 
could register these startling things, the leer of vic- 
tory vanished; the Punjabi’s lips framed some 
startled cry; his hands fell to his side; his torso 
drooped forward, and he collapsed as though his 
legs were paralysed. 

Finnerty half rose and turned the Punjabi over on 
his back, pressing his shoulders to the mat; then he 


SO THE THREE SAPPHIRES 

took the black nose between finger and thumb and 
tweaked it. 

“Topping ! Ripping !” Gilfain shouted the words. 
“It was coming to the cad!” 

The others sat numbed to silence by the extraordi- 
nary suddenness of the collapse. Each one under- 
stood the debasing retribution the keddah sahib had 
meted out to his foul-fighting opponent. 

Swinton, watching, saw consternation pall the 
heavy-jowled face of the Prussian. The debonair 
air had fallen away from the prince. To hide his 
chagrin he called Darna Singh to bring the mahanta 
to him. He spoke rapidly in a low voice to the 
priest, and when he had finished, the latter departed, 
accompanied by Darna Singh. 

When Finnerty came back to them Prince Ananda 
had regained his sangfroid; he smiled a greeting, 
holding out his hand, and said: “You deserve to 
win. 

“I should say so!” Gilfain added. “That rotter 
would have been mobbed at a bout in London.” 

Boelke mumbled: “You are very strong, major.” 

Finnerty, peeping into the silver box that had been 
replaced by the servants on the table, asked: “Any 
of you chaps got that bell clapper? I left it here.” 

Nobody had; nobody knew anything about it. In- 
stinctively each one felt his pockets to be sure that, 
in the excitement of the struggle, he hadn’t put it 
away; then each one remembered that he hadn’t seen 
it since the major deposited it in the silver box. 


THE THREE SAPPHIRES 


31 


“The table was upset,” Swinton said. “Look on 
the floor.” 

Even Prince Ananda joined in the search. Then 
the servants were questioned. They knew nothing 
of its whereabouts; all denied that they had seen the 
keddah sahib put it in the box. 

A little constraint crept into the search. Prince 
Ananda’s brother-in-law and the temple priest had 
been there and had departed; the prince’s servants 
had been going and coming. 

“It may have rolled off the terrace into the wa- 
ter,” Prince Ananda suggested. “In the morning 
I’ll have the lake searched at this point.” 

“It doesn’t matter,” Finnerty declared. 

“It does, my dear major,” Ananda objected. “I’ll 
put pressure on the servants, for I’m very much 
afraid one of them has stolen it. At any rate, you’ve 
been looted in my house, and if I don’t find your sap- 
phire you shall have the finest jewel Hamilton Com- 
pany can send up from Calcutta.” 

“My young friend was too enthusiastic,” Doctor 
Boelke said with a mirthless grin ; “he has also soaked 
my legs.” 

The savage wrestling bout and the mysterious loss 
of the sapphire brought a depressing vacuity of 
speech. The guests were soon waiting in the court- 
yard for the tonga. 

Swinton stepped over to where Finnerty waited 
in his dogcart while a servant lighted the lamps, say- 
ing: “Prince Ananda has arranged that we are to 
call on the maharajah at ten o’clock to-morrow, and 


32 


THE THREE SAPPHIRES 


I’d like to ride over to see your elephants later on.” 

“Come for tiffin,” the major invited. 

As the tonga carrying Lord Victor and Swinton 
was starting, Ananda said: “I’ve told the driver to 
show you the Maha Bodhi Temple and a pagoda 
on your way; it is there that Prince Sakya Singha 
attained to the Buddha. Good night.” 

Halfway down the tonga stopped, and their eyes 
picked up, off to the right, a ravishing sight. A 
gloomed hill, rising like a plinth of black marble, 
held on its top a fairy-lined structure. Like a gossa- 
mer web or a proportioned fern, a wooden temple 
lay against the moonlit sky; beside it, towering high 
to a slender spire, was the pagoda, its gold-leafed 
wall softened to burnished silver by the gentling 
moon. A breeze stirred a thousand bells that hung 
in a golden umbrella above the spire, and the soft 
tinkle-tinkle-tinkle of their many tongues was like 
the song of falling waters on a pebbled bed till hushed 
by a giant gong that sent its booming notes rever- 
berating across the hills as some temple priest beat 
with muffled club its bronzed side. 

“Devilish serene sort of thing, don’t you think?” 
Lord Victor managed to put his poetic emotions into 
that much prose banality. 

The driver, not understanding the English words, 
said in Hindustani : “There will be much war there 
to-morrow when they fight over their gods.” 

As if his forecast had wakened evil genii of strife 
up in the hills, the fierce blare of a conch shell, joined 


THE THREE SAPPHIRES 


33 

in clamour by clanging temple bells, came across the 
valley, shattering its holy calm. 

“My aunt! What a beastly din!” Lord Victor 
exclaimed. 

“War,” the driver announced indifferently. 

Human voices pitched to the acute scale of con- 
tending demons now sat astride the sound waves. 

“Gad! Dharama has stolen a march on the ma- 
hanta and is sneaking in his Buddha by moonlight,” 
Swinton declared. 

The tumult grew in intensity; torches flashed and 
dimmed in and out about the temple like evil eyes. 

“Shall we take a peep, old top?” Lord Victor 
asked, eagerness in his voice. 

Swinton spoke to the driver, asking about the 
road, and learned that, turning off to the right at 
that point, it wound down the mountainside and up 
the other hill to the temple. 

Just at that instant there came from down the 
road the clatter of galloping hoofs and the whirling 
bang of reckless wheels. In seconds the keddah 
sahib’s dogcart swirled into view; he reined up, 
throwing his horse almost on his haunches. 

“That mongrel Buddhist, Dharama, is up to his 
deviltry; I’ve got to stop him!” 

He was gone. 

At a sharp order from Swinton the tonga fol- 
lowed, the driver, eager to see the fray, carrying 
them along at perilous speed. At each sharp turn, 
with its sheer drop of a hundred feet or more on the 
outside, the tonga swung around, careening to one 


34 


THE THREE SAPPHIRES 


of its two wheels, the other spinning idly in the air. 
The little ruby eyes in the back of the dogcart’s 
lamps twinkling ahead seemed to inspire their driver 
with reckless rivalry. 

When they arrived at the temple the battle had 
reached its climax. The brass Buddha, its yellow 
face with the sightless eyes of meditation staring up 
in oblivious quietude to the skies, was lying all alone 
just within the temple gate. Without, Dharama and 
his Buddhists battled the smaller force of the ma- 
hanta, who led it with fanatical fervour. 

They saw the keddah sahib towering above the 
fighting mob, his spread arms raised as if exhorting 
them to desist from strife. The combatants broke 
against his body like stormy waves, his words were 
drowned by the tumult of the passion cries. 

Swinton and Lord Victor dropped from the tonga, 
and as they ran toward the riot something happened. 
A native close to Dharama struck at Finnerty with a 
long fighting staff, the blow falling on an arm the 
Irishman thrust forward as guard. Like an enraged 
bull bison, the keddah sahib charged. Dharama and 
the man who had struck were caught by the throats 
and their heads knocked together as though they 
were puppets; then Dharama was twisted about, and 
the foot of the big Irishman lifted him with a sweep- 
ing kick. He catapulted out of the fray. Then the 
keddah sahib’s fists smote here and there, until, dis- 
couraged by the fate of their leader and the new re- 
enforcements^ — for Lord Victor and Captain Swin- 
ton were now busy — the Buddhists broke and fled. 


THE THREE SAPPHIRES 


35 


“Faith, it’s a busy night, captain!” Finnerty ex- 
claimed as he wiped perspiration from his forehead. 
He turned to the mahanta, and, pointing to the yel- 
low god, said: “Roll that thing down the hill!” 

In a frenzy of delight the temple adherents laid 
hands upon the brass Buddha. It took their united 
strength to drag and roll it to the edge of the slop- 
ing hillside a hundred feet away. The sahibs stood 
on the brink, watching the image that glinted in the 
moonlight as it tumbled grotesquely over and over 
down the declivity till it plunged into the muddy 
waters of Gupti Nala. 

“There’ll be no more trouble over installing that 
idol in the temple for some time,” Finnerty chuckled. 

Then they climbed into tonga and dogcart, and 
sped homeward. 


Chapter II 


T HE bungalow Swinton and Lord Victor occu- 
pied was in a large, brick-walled compound, 
in the cantonments, that was known as the 
Dak Compound, because it contained three bunga- 
lows the maharajah maintained for visiting guests. 

The tonga, finishing its clattering trip from the 
Maha Bodhi Temple, swung through the big gate to 
a circular driveway, bordered by a yellow-and-green 
mottled wall of crotons, here and there ablaze with 
the flaming blood-red hibiscus and its scarlet rival, 
the Shoe flower. Swinton took a deep draft of the 
perfumed air that drifted lazily from pink-cheeked 
oleander and jasmine; then he cursed, for a brackish 
taint of hookah killed in his nostrils the sweet per- 
fume. 

To his right lay one of the guest bungalows, and 
a light, hanging on the veranda, showed a billowy 
form of large proportions filling an armchair. Some- 
body must have arrived, for the bungalow had been 
empty, the captain mentally noted. 

In bed, Swinton drifted from a tangle of queries 
into slumber. Why had the German drawn Finnerty 
into wrestling the Punjabi? Why had some one 
stolen the uncut sapphire? What was behind the 
prince’s pose in religion? Who was the woman be- 
36 


THE THREE SAPPHIRES 


37 

Then 


hind the lattice — yes, it was a woman- 
Swinton drowsed off. 

It is soul racking to awaken in a strange room, 
startled from sleep by unplaceable sounds, to ex- 
perience that hopeless lostness, to mentally grope for 
a door or a window in the way of a familiar mark 
to assist one’s location. When Captain Swinton was 
thrust out of deep slumber by a demoniac tumult he 
came into consciousness in just such an environment. 
Lost souls torturing in Hades could not have given 
expression to more vocal agony than the clamour 
that rent the night. 

Swinton was on his feet before he had mentally 
arranged his habitat. He groped in the gloom for 
something of substance in the sea of uncertainty; 
his hands fell upon the table, and, miraculously, a 
match box. Then he lighted a lamp, pushed out into 
the passage, and saw Lord Victor’s pajamaed figure 
coming toward him. 

“What a bally row!” the latter complained sleep- 
ily. “Must be slaughter 1” 

Out on the veranda, they located the vocal bar- 
rage ; it was being fired from the bungalow in which 
they had seen the bulky figure in white. Perhaps the 
vociferous one had seen their light, for he was cry- 
ing: “Oh, my lord and master, save me! Tiger is 
biting to my death! I am too fearful to explore 
across the compound. Heroic masters, come with 
guns!” 

“Oh, I say! What a devilish shindy!” Lord 


38 


THE THREE SAPPHIRES 


Victor contributed petulantly. “Is that bounder pull- 
ing our legs?” 

“It’s a baboo, and a baboo has no sense of hu- 
mour; he doesn’t pull legs,” the captain answered. 
“But he does get badly funked.” 

Another voice had joined issue. Swinton knew 
it for a “chee-chee” voice, a half-caste’s. 

“Yes, sar,” the new pleader thrust out across the 
compound; “we are without firearms, but a prowling 
tiger is waiting to devour us.” 

He was interrupted by a bellowing scream from 
his companion, an agonised cry of fright. As if in 
lordly reproach, the clamour was drowned by a re- 
verberating growl: “Waugh-h-h!” 

“Gad, man! Devilish like a leopard!” And the 
captain darted into his room to reappear with a mag- 
azine rifle. A bearer came running in from the cook- 
house, a lighted lantern in his hand, at that instant. 

“Here, Gilfain,” Swinton called, “grab the lan- 
tern. If it’s a leopard he’ll slink away when he sees 
the light, so we may not get a shot. Come on !” He 
was dropping cartridges into the magazine of his 
rifle. “Pardus is probably sneaking around after a 
goat or a dog. Come on; keep close behind me so 
the light shines ahead.” 

“Pm game, old chappie,” Lord Gilfain answered 
cheerily. “Push on; this is spiffen!” 

The gravel was cruel to their bare feet, but in the 
heat of the hunt they put this away for future refer- 
ence. As they neared the other bungalow the cap- 
tain suddenly stopped and threw his gun to his 


THE THREE SAPPHIRES 


39 


shoulder; then he lowered it, saying: “Thought I 
saw something slip into the bushes, but I don’t want 
to pot a native.” 

They reached the bungalow, and as Swinton pushed 
open a wooden door he was greeted by wordy tumult. 
Screamed phrases issued from a bedroom that opened 
off the room in which they stood. 

“Go away, jungle devil! O Lord! I shall be 
eated!” 

“Don’t be an ass! Come out here!” the captain 
commanded. 

The person did. One peep through the door to 
see that the English voice did not belong to a ghost, 
and a baboo charged out to throw his arms around 
the sahib, sobbing: “Oh, my lord, I am safe! I will 
pray always for you.” 

Pushed off by Swinton, he collapsed in a chair, 
weeping in the relief of his terror. 

The baboo’s prodigal gratitude had obliterated a 
companion who had followed him from the room. 
Now the latter stood in the radiancy of Lord Victor’s 
lantern, saying: “Baboo Lall Mohun Dass has been 
awed by a large tiger, but we have beat the cat off.” 

The speaker was a slim, very dark half-caste clad 
in white trousers and jaran coat. 

“It is Mr. Perreira.” And Baboo Dass stopped 
sobbing while he made this momentous announce- 
ment. 

“What’s all the outcry about, baboo?” the cap- 
tain asked. 

“Sar,” Baboo Dass answered, “I will narrative 


40 


THE THREE SAPPHIRES 


from the beginning: I am coming from Calcutta to- 
day, and Mr. Perreira is old friend, college chum, 
he is come here to spend evening in familiar inters 
course. We are talking too late of pranks we exe- 
cute against high authority in college. Kuda be 
thanked ! I have close the window because reading 
that mosquito bring malaria — ugh!” With a yell 
the baboo sprang to his feet; Perreira, leaning 
against the centre table, had knocked off a metal 
ornament. “Excuse me, masters, I am upset by that 
debased tiger.” He collapsed into a chair. 

“What happened?” Swinton queried sharply, for 
his feet were beginning to sting from the trip over 
the gravel. 

“We hear mysterious noise — tap, tap; some spirit 
is tickle the window. I look, and there, masters, spy- 
ing at me is some old fellow of evil countenance; 
like a guru, with grey whiskers and big horn spec- 
tacles. But his eyes — O Kuda ! Very brave I stand 
up and say, ‘Go away, you old reprobate!’ because 
he is prying.” 

“Oh, my aunt!” Gilfain muttered. 

“Then that old villain that is an evil spirit changes 
himself into a tiger and grins at me. Fangs like a 
shark has got — horrible! I call loudly for help 
because I have not firearms. Then I hear my lord’s 
voice out here in the room and I am saved.” 

“Yes, sar, that is true,” Perreira affirmed. “I am 
not flustered, but hold the windows so tiger not climb- 
ing in.” 

Lord Victor, raising the lantern, looked into the 


THE THREE SAPPHIRES 41 

captain’s eyes. “What do you make of these two 
bounders?” 

“You’d better go back to bed, baboo,” Swinton 
advised; “you’ve just had a nightmare — eaten too 
much curry.” 

But Baboo Dass swore he had seen a beast with 
his hands on the window. 

“We’ll soon prove it. If the tiger stood up there, 
he will have left his pugs in the sand,” Swinton de- 
clared as he moved toward the door. He was fol- 
lowed by the baboo and Perreira, who hung close 
as they went down the steps and around the wall. 

As Gilfain passed the lantern close to the sandy 
soil beneath the window, Swinton gave a gasp of 
astonishment, for there were footprints of a tiger, 
the largest he had ever seen ; their position, the marks 
of the claws in the earth, indicated that the great cat 
had actually stood up to look into the room. 

“Well, he’s gone now, anyway,” the captain said, 
turning back to the driveway. “You’d better go to 
bed, baboo ; he won’t trouble you any more to-night.” 

But Mohun Dass wept and prayed for the sahib 
to stay and protect him; he would go mad in the 
bungalow without firearms. 

“I say, Swinton,” Lord Victor interposed, “these 
poor chaps’ nerves seem pretty well shimmered, don’t 
you think? Shall we take them over to our bunga- 
low and give them a brandy?” 

The captain hesitated; he didn’t like baboos. But 
when Perreira acclaimed: “Yes, sar, a peg will stim- 
ulate our hearts — thank you, kind gentleman; and 


42 


THE THREE SAPPHIRES 


his highness, the rajah, will thank you for saving me, 
for I am important artisan,” his dead-blue eyes 
glinted. 

“Come on, then!” he said, picking his way gin- 
gerly over the gravel. 

Inside the bungalow, Swinton tossed his keys to 

the bearer, saying: “Bring ” He turned to 

Perreira : “What will you have, brandy or whisky?” 

The half-caste smacked his bluish lips. “Any one 
is good, sar.” 

But Lall Mohun Dass interposed: “Salaam, my 
preserver, I am a man because of religious scruples 
teetotal, and whisky is convivial beverage ; but bran- 
dy is medicinal, prescribed by doctor.” 

Swinton nodded to the bearer, and when the lat- 
ter, unlocking the liquor cabinet, brought the brandy 
and glasses, he said: “Put it on the table and go.” 
Then, at a suggestion, Perreira poured copious drafts 
for himself and Baboo Dass. 

As the water of life scorched its way through the 
thin veins of the half-caste he underwent a metamor- 
phosis. The face that had looked so pinched and 
blue grey with fear took on a warmer copper tint; 
his eyes that had been lustreless warmed till they 
glowed; his shoulders squared up; the jaran coat 
sagged less. 

“Ah, sahib, you are kind gentleman.” Without 
invitation, he dragged a chair to the table and sat 
down. At a nod from Swinton, the baboo drew up 
another. The captain and Lord Victor sat down, 
the latter rather puzzled over his companion’s mood. 


THE THREE SAPPHIRES 


43 


He knew Swinton’s rigid ideas about association with 
the natives; particularly what he called the “greasy 
Bengali baboo.” 

The brandy had quieted Mohun Dass’ terror. 
His eyes that had constantly sought the open door 
with apprehension now hovered benignantly upon 
the bottle that still graced the centre of the table. 

“Yes, sar, kind gentleman,” Perreira said; “if I’d 
had a hooker of brandy like that and a gun like that 
‘Certus Cordite’ ” — he pointed to the weapon Swin- 
ton had deposited on the floor — “I would go out and 
blow that fool tiger to hell.” 

Baboo Dass gave a fatty laugh. “Do not believe 
him, kind gentlemans — he make ungodly boast; he 
was crawled under the bed.” 

“And you, baboo?” Perreira questioned. “Major 
sa hib ” 

“I am not a major,” Swinton corrected; “we are 
just two Englishmen who have come out here for 
some shooting.” 

This statement had a curious effect on Mohun 
Dass. All his class stood in awe of the military, but 
toward the globe-trotting, sporting Englishman they 
could hardly conceal their natural arrogance. A look 
of assured familiarity crept into his fat countenance; 
he showed his white teeth with the little, reddish 
lines between them, due to pan chewing. “You are 
globe-trotter gentlemans — I know. Will you writ- 
ing book, too?” 

The captain nodded. 

“You will get Forbes Hindustani dictionary and 


44 


THE THREE SAPPHIRES 


spell bungalow ‘bangla,’ and the book will stink like 
the lamp because of academic propensity. Never 
mind, kind gentleman, the publics will think you 
know about India and caste, too.” 

The captain noting Perreira’s eyes devouring the 
bottle shoved it toward the half-caste. Gilfain, with 
a sigh of not understanding, rose, went along to 
their rooms, and returned with slippers and some 
cheroots. 

Perreira had helped himself and the baboo to 
another generous drink, the latter protesting weakly. 

“I see you know about guns, Perreira,” Swinton 
said, lifting the rifle to his knee. “How do you hap- 
pen to know this is a Cordite?” 

“Cordite? Ha, ha!” And the half-caste’s cackle 
was a triumphant note. He put a pair of attenuated 
fingers into the top pocket of his jaran coat and drew 
from beneath a very dirty handkerchief a lump of 
something that resembled an unbaked biscuit. He 
flipped it to the table as though he were tossing a 
box of cigarettes. “Yes, sars, that is cordite — dyna- 
mite, whatever you like to call him.” 

“Good God! I say, you silly ass!” And Lord 
Victor, pushing back his chair, stood up. 

Baboo Dass, who had been sitting with his feet 
curled up under his fat thighs, tumbled from the 
chair, and, standing back from the table, cried: 
u Mera bap! Tigers eating and explosives produc- 
ing eruption of death. O Kuda, my poor families!” 

Swinton checked an involuntary movement of re- 


THE THREE SAPPHIRES 


45 


treat, and the compelling void of his eyes drew from 
the half-caste an explanation : 

“Take seat, kind gentlemans and Baboo Lall Mo- 
hun Dass. This thing is innocent as baby of explo- 
sion. It is cordite not yet finish. I was in the gov- 
ernment cordite factory here in ” He checked, 

looked over his shoulder toward the front door, and 
then continued: “Yes, sar, I was gov’ment expert 
man to mix cordite. If you don’t believe, listen, 
gentlemans. Cordite is fifty-eight parts nitroglycerin, 
thirty-seven parts guncotton, five parts mineral jelly, 
and, of course, acetone is used as solvent. Now all 
that is mix by hand, and while these parts explode like 
hell when separate, when they are mix they are no 
harm. And I was expert for mixing. I am expert 
on smokeless powder and all kinds of guns because I 
am home in England working for Curtis & Harper 
Co. in their factory. That why Rajah Darpore en- 
gage me.” 

Swinton’s eyes twitched three times, but he gave 
no other sign. 

Baboo Dass drew himself into the conversation. 
“This mans, Perreira, been at school in Howrah 
with me, but I am now B. A., and trusted head kran- 
nie for Hamilton Company, jewel ” 

With a gasp he stopped and thrust a hand under 
his jacket; then explained: “Sahib, I forgetting some- 
thing because of strict attention to tiger business. 
You are honourable gentleman who has save my life, 
so I will show the satanic thing, and you can write 
story about some ghost jewels.” 


46 


THE THREE SAPPHIRES 


He unclasped from his neck a heavy platinum 
chain, and, first casting a furtive glance toward the 
door, drew forth a pear-shaped casket of the same 
metal, saying: “You see, sar, not so glorified in 
splendour as to seduce thieves, but inside is marvel 
of thing.” 

He thrust the casket toward Swinton, and laughed 
in toper glee when the captain explored vainly its 
smooth shell for a manner of opening it. “Allow 
me, sar,” and, Baboo Dass touching some hidden 
mechanism, the shell opened like a pea pod, exposing 
to the startled captain’s eyes an exact mate to the 
sapphire Finnerty had lost. 

Lord Victor, his unschooled eyes popping like a 

lobster’s, began : “Oh, I say ” Then he broke 

off with a yelp of pain, for Swinton’s heel had all 
but smashed his big toe beneath the table. 

“I am bringing for the maharajah,” Baboo Dass 
explained. “The old boy is gourmand for articles 
of vertu.” 

“Articles of virtue!” And Perreira leered fool- 
ishly. “Prince Ananda is the Johnnie to collect ar- 
ticles of virtue; he imports from Europe.” 

“Mr. Perreira is gay young dog!” Baboo Daas 
leaned heavily across the table. “Perhaps Shazada 
Ananda is in big hurry to sit on the throne.” 

“There’s always a woman at the bottom of these 
things, sir,” and Perreira twisted his eyes into an 
owllike look of wisdom. 

“You see, sar,” the baboo elucidated, “Prince 
Ananda has give this to the maharajah, and it is ac- 


THE THREE SAPPHIRES 47 

cursed agent of evil; because of it I am nearly eated 
of a tiger.” 

On the sapphire was the same inscription Swinton 
had seen on the stolen stone. 

“That is Persian characters, sahib,” Baboo Dass 
declared ponderously. “It is used for ‘mine,’ but in 
learned way madun is proper name for mine, and 
Rikaz, this word, means buried treasure. I am 
learned in dead languages — Sanskrit, Pali. It is 
sacred stone. If you possessing patience, sahib, I 
will narrative obscure histories of Buddhism.” 

“Oh, my aunt!” The already bored Lord Victor 
yawned. 

But Captain Swinton declared earnestly: “If you 
do, baboo, I will place your name in my book as an 
authority.” 

Mohun Dass’ breast swelled with prospective 
glory. 

“I say, old chappie, if we’re to sit out the act I’m 
going to have a B. and S.,” and Gilfain reached for 
the bottle. 

“We’ll all have one,” declared the captain to the 
delight of Perreira. 

“Kind sar,” Baboo Dass pleaded, “do not speak 
these things to-morrow, for my caste frowning 
against bacchanalian feast.” 

“We promise, old top!” Lord Victor declared 
solemnly, and Swinton mentally added: “The Lord 
forbid!” 

“Now, sar,” began Baboo Dass, “in Buddhist book 
* Paramamta Maju / is describe the Logha, the earth, 


48 


THE THREE SAPPHIRES 


telling it rests on three great sapphires, and beneath 
is big rock and plenty oceans. And according to that 
book is three sacred sapphires knocking around 
loose. If any man have them three together he is 
the true Buddha and rules all India. Prince Sakya 
Singha got those sapphires and became Buddha ; that 
was up on the hill where is Maha Bodhi Temple. 
The sapphires got hole because one is to hang in the 
temple, one hangs on a sacred elephant that guard 
the temple, and one round the Buddha’s neck.” 

Baboo Dass lifted his glass, his heavy ox eyes 
peering over its top at Swinton, who was thinking 
of Finnerty’s elephant that had the sapphire. 

Baboo Dass resumed: “And here, kind gentleman, 
is the hell of dilemma, for one sapphire is Brahm, 
the Creator; one Vishnu, the Preserver; and one 
Siva, the Destroyer. So, if a man got one he don’t 
know if it is loadstone for good fortune or it brings 
him to damnation.” 

“But, baboo,” Swinton objected, “those are Brah- 
man gods, and Buddhists have practically no gods.” 

“Sar, Buddhism is kind of revolted Brahmanism, 
and in the north the two is mixed.” 

The baboo pointed gingerly at the sapphire in its 
platinum case : “That is the Siva stone, I believe. 
Maharajah Darpore is sending to my company in 
Calcutta by special agent for them to find other two 
stones like it. See, sahib, he is foxy old boy. We 
make that chain and casket — his order. That spe- 
cial agent disappeared forever — he is vanish the next 
day; the workman that fitted the stone in the case 


THE THREE SAPPHIRES 


49 


died of cholera; some devil tried to steal the sap- 
phire ; all the workmen get a secret it is evil god and 
they strike. The manager, Rombey Sahib, swear 
plenty blasphemy and command me: ‘Baboo Dass, 
you are brave mans, take the damn thing to old Dar- 
pore and tell his banker I must have rupees twenty 
thousand; they owe us sixty thousand.’ Rombey 
Sahib knows I will give the dewan a commission, and 
the old thief will write a money order.” 

“What did the maharajah want of the three sap- 
phires?” Swinton asked innocently. 

Baboo Dass leaned across the table, and in a gur- 
gling whisper said: “Because of this foolish belief 
that he would rule all India. The Buddhists would 
think he was a Buddha. That word Rikaz means, 
in theologic way, that in the man possesses the three 
sapphires is buried the treasure of holy knowledge.” 

Swinton, turning his head at a faint sound, saw 
his bearer standing in the back doorway. 

“Did master call?” the servant asked. 

“No. Go!” 

Trembling with apprehension, Baboo Dass slipped 
the case back in his breast. A revulsion of bibulous 
despondency took possession of him; he slipped a 
white cotton sock from one of the feet he had pulled 
from their shoes in his exuberancy, and wiped his 
eyes. 

“Baboo Dass is right,” Perreira declared, thrust- 
ing into the gap. “On the hill I am working like 
mole in the ground, but I got my eyeteeth looking 
when I am in the light. I am Britisher — Piccadilly 


50 THE THREE SAPPHIRES 

Circus is home for me — if I work for native prince 
I don’t sell my mess of pottage.” 

Perreira tapped the breast pocket of his jaran 

coat. “I got little book here ” The half-caste 

gulped; a wave of sea green swept over his face; he 
gurgled “Sick,” and made a reeling dash for the ve- 
randah. At the door, he recoiled with a yell of ter- 
ror. The baboo dived under the table. 

Thinking it was the tiger, Swinton grabbed his 
rifle and sprang to the door, discovering a native 
standing against the wall. 

“What do you want?” the captain asked in rapid 
English. 

“Sahib, I am the night chowkidar of the com- 
pound.” 

“Sit on the steps there!” Swinton commanded. 

Back at the table, he said: “Baboo, you and Per- 
reira go back to your bungalow now with the chow- 
kidar, but I warn you he understands English.” 

Trembling, Perreira whispered: “That man spy. 
Please lending me rupees two.” 

Baboo Dass revived to encourage the deal, saying: 
“Mr. Perreira is honest man; I endorse for him 
rupees five thousand.” 

Suspecting that the requested loan had something 
to do with the eavesdropping chowkidar, Captain 
Swinton went to his room, returning with the silver, 
which he slipped quietly into Perreira’s palm, saying 
in a low voice: “Come to see me again.” He stood 
watching the three figures pass down the moonlit 


THE THREE SAPPHIRES 


51 


road, and saw Perreira touch the chowkidar; then 
their hands met. 

Going to their rooms, Lord Victor said: “Don’t 
see how the devil you had the patience, captain. Are 
you really going to do a book and were mugging up ?” 

“I may get something out of it,” the captain an- 
swered enigmatically. 


Chapter III 


C APTAIN Swinton had told his bearer to call 
him early, his life in India having taught him 
the full value of the glorious early morning for 
a ride. Lord Victor had balked at the idea of a grey- 
dawn pleasure trip on horseback, and Swinton had 
not pressed the point, for he very much desired to 
make a little tour of inspection off his own bat, a 
contemplative ride free from the inane comments of 
his young charge. 

At the first soft drawn-out “Sah-h-i-b !” of his 
bearer, the captain was up with soldierly precision. 
His eyes lighted with pleasure when he saw the 
saddle horse that had been provided for him from 
the maharajah’s stable. He was a fine, upstanding 
brown Arab, the eyes full and set wide. When Swin- 
ton patted the velvet muzzle the Arab gave a little 
sigh of satisfaction, expressing content; he liked to 
carry men who loved horses. 

The bearer, officiously solicitous, had rubbed his 
cloth over the saddle and bridle reins, and, examin- 
ing the result, said: “Huzoor, you have clean leath- 
ers ; it is well. Also the steed has lucky marks and 
his name is Shabaz.” 

Shabaz broke into a free-swinging canter as the 
captain took the road that stretched, like a red rib- 
52 


THE THREE SAPPHIRES 53 

bon laid on a carpet^of green, toward the hill, 
whereon, high up, gleamed a flat pearl, the palace of 
Prince Ananda. 

On the hillside was a delicate tracery of waving 
bamboos, through which peeped cliffs of various hues 
— rose-coloured, ebon black, pearl grey, vermilion 
red; and over all was a purple haze where the golden 
shafts of the rising sun shot shrough lazy-rising va- 
pours of the moist plain. The cliffs resembled castle 
walls rising from the buried city, mushrooming them- 
selves into sudden arrogance. To the north a river 
wound its sinuous way through plains of sand, a 
silver serpent creeping over a cloth of gold. Back 
from either side of the river lay patches of wheat 
and barley, their jade green and golden bronze hold- 
ing of grain suggesting gigantic plates of metal set 
out in the morning sun to dry. 

To the westward of the river lay Darpore City, 
looking like a box of scattered toys. Beyond the 
white palace the sal-covered hills lay heavy, mys- 
terious, sombre, as if in rebuke to the eastern sky 
palpitating with the radiancy that flooded it from 
the great golden ball of heat that swept upward in 
regal majesty. 

Yawning caves studding a ravine which cut its 
climbing way up the hillside shattered the poetic spell 
which had driven from Swinton’s mind his real ob- 
ject in that solitary ride. The cave mouths sug- 
gested entrances to military underground passages. 
He was certain that the pearllike palace was a place 
of intrigue. The contour of the great hill conveyed 


54 


THE THREE SAPPHIRES 

the impression of a stronghold — a mighty fort, easy 
of defence. Indeed, as Swinton knew, that was what 
it had been. Its history, the story of Fort Kargez, 
was in the India office, and Prince Ananda must have 
lied the night before when he said he did not know 
what city lay beneath the palace. 

Fort Kargez had been the stronghold of Joghen- 
dra Bahi, a Hindu rajah, when the Pathan emperor, 
Sher Ghaz, had swept through India to the undulat- 
ing plains of Darpore. 

Gazing at the formidable hill, Swinton chuckled 
over the wily Pathan’s manner of capturing Fort 
Kargez by diplomacy. He had made friends with 
Rajah Bahi, asking the favour of leaving his harem 
and vast store of jewels in that gentleman’s safe cus- 
tody till his return from conquering Bengal. 

Such a bait naturally appealed to the covetous 
Hindu. But the palanquins that carried the fair 
maids and the wealth of jewels had also hidden within 
'enough men to hold the gate while a horde of Pathans 
rushed the fort. But Rajah Bahi and many of his 
soldiers had escaped to the underground passages, 
and either by accident or design — for the vaults had 
been mined — they were blown up, turning the fort 
over like a pancake, burying the Pathan soldiers and 
the vast loot of gold and jewels. Then the jungle 
crept in, as it always does, and smothered the jagged 
surface beneath which lay the ruined walls. Many 
of the artificial lakes remained; they were just with- 
out the fort. 

Climbing the zigzag roadway, Swinton fell to 


THE THREE SAPPHIRES 


55 


wondering if all the prince’s talk of a desire for re- 
moval from the bustle of Darpore City was simply 
a blind; if his real object weren’t a systematic ex- 
ploration for the vast store of wealth in the buried 
city and also the preparation of a rebel stronghold. 

On the plateau, he took a road that forked to the 
right, leading between hedges of swordlike aloes to 
the palace gardens. At a gateway in a brick wall, 
his guide dropped to his haunches, saying: “There 
is but one gate, sahib; I will wait here.” 

Turning a corner of an oleander-bordered path, 
Swinton suddenly pulled Shabaz to a halt. Twenty 
yards away a girl sat a grey stallion, the poise of 
her head suggesting that she had heard the beat of his 
horse’s hoofs. A ripple of wind carried the scent 
of the Arab to the grey stallion; he arched his taper- 
ing neck and swung his head, the eyes gleaming with 
a desire for combat. A small gloved hand, with a 
quick slip of the rein, laid the curb chain against 
his jaw; a spur raked his flank, and, springing from 
its touch, he disappeared around a turn. Piqued, 
his query of the night before, “Who was the 
woman?” recalled to his mind, Swinton followed 
the large hoofprints of the grey. They led to within 
six feet of the garden wall, where they suddenly van- 
ished; they led neither to the right nor to the left 
of the sweeping path. 

“Good old land of mystery!” the captain muttered 
as, slipping from his saddle, he read out the enigma. 
Back, the greater stride told that the grey had gone 
to a rushing gallop. Here, six feet from the wall, 


56 


THE THREE SAPPHIRES 


he had taken off in a mighty leap; two holes cupped 
from the roadbed by the push of his hind feet told 
this tale. Swinton could just chin the wall — and he 
was a tall man. On the far side was a fern-covered 
terrace that fell away three feet to a roadbed, and 
just beyoncl the road the rim of a void a hundred 
feet deep showed. 

“No end of nerve; she almost deserves to preserve 
her incognito,” Captain Swinton thought, remount- 
ing Shabaz. 

On his way out the captain passed a heavy iron 
gate that connected the garden with the palace. And 
from beyond was now coming a babel of animal 
voices from the zoo. Mingling with the soft per- 
fume of roses a strong odour of cooking curry re- 
minded him of breakfast. At the gate he picked 
up his man, and, riding leisurely along, sought to 
learn from that wizened old Hindu the horsewom- 
an’s name. 

There came a keen look of cautious concealment 
into the man’s little eyes as he answered: “Sahib, the 
lady I know not, neither is it of profit for one of 
my labour to converse about fine people, but as to 
the grey stallion we in the stables allude to him as 
Sheitan.” 

“He jumps well, Radha.” 

“Ha, sahib; all that he does is performed with 
strength, even when he tore an arm out of Stoll 
Sahib — he of the Indigo.” 

“How comes the lady to ride such an evil horse?” 
the captain asked. 


THE THREE SAPPHIRES 


5T 


“The stallion’s name is Djalma, sahib, which 
means the favour of sacred Kuda, but to the mem- 
sahib he comes from the maharani’s stable, which is 
a different thing.” 

“To bring her harm, even as Stoll Sahib came by 
it?” 

But Radha parried this talk of cause leading to 
effect by speech relating to Djalma. “It might be 
that the matter of Stoll Sahib’s hand was but an ac- 
cident — I know not; but of evil omens, as twisted 
in the hair of a horse, we horsemen of repute all 
know. The grey stallion carries three marks of ill 
favour. Beneath the saddle he has the shadow 
maker, and that means gloom for his owner; at the 
knee is a curl, with the tail of the curl running down 
to the fetlock — that means the withdrawal of the 
peg. That is to say, sahib, that his owner’s rope 
pegs will have to be knocked out for lack of horses 
to tie to them.” 

“He seems a bad lot, Radha,” Swinton remarked 
as the attendant stopped to pick a thorn from his 
foot. 

“Worst of all,” the little man added dolefully, 
“is the wall eye.” 

* “Has the grey stallion that?” 

A smile of satisfaction wreathed the puckered lips 
of Radha. “The sahib knows, and does the sahib 
remember the proverb?” 

“That not one will be left alive in your house if 
you possess a horse with one white eye?” the captain 
said. 


58 


THE THREE SAPPHIRES 


They now slipped from the hill road to the plain, 
and the Arab broke into a swinging canter. 

The captain’s breakfast was waiting, so was Gil- 
fain and also — which caused him to swear as he 
slipped from the saddle — was Baboo Lall Mohun 
Dass. 

In the genial morning sun the baboo looked more 
heroic in his spotless muslin and embroidered velvet 
cap sitting jauntily atop his heavy, black, well-oiled 
hair. 

“Wanting to speak to master, sar, this morning,” 
he said. “After debauch, in the morning wisdom 
smiles like benign god. I am showing to master last 
night property of maharajah, and he is terrible old 
boy for raising hell; I am hear the sahib will make 
call of honour, and, sar, I am beseeching you will 
not confide to his highness them peccadillos.” 

“All right, baboo. But excuse me; I’ve got to 
have a tub and breakfast.” 

When Lord Victor and Captain Swinton had fin- 
ished their breakfast a huge barouche of archaic 
structure, drawn by a pair of gaunt Waler horses, 
arrived to take them to the maharajah. On the box 
seat were two liveried coachmen, while behind rode 
the syces. 

As they rolled along the red road through the 
cantonments they overtook Baboo Mohun Dass plug- 
ging along in an elephantine strut beneath a gaudy 
green umbrella. When they drew abreast he sa- 
laamed and said: “Masters, kind gentlemen!” The 
coachman drew the horses to a walk, and the baboo, 


THE THREE SAPPHIRES 


59 


keeping pace, asked: “Will you, kind gentlemans, if 
you see a vehicle, please send to meet me? I have 
commanded that one be sent for me, but a hum- 
bugging fellow betray my interest, so I am pedes- 
trian.” His big, bovine eyes rested hungrily on the 
capacious, leather-cushioned seat alluringly vacant 
in the chariot. 

“All right, baboo !” Then Swinton raised his eyes 
to the coachman, who was looking over his shoulder, 
and ordered: “Hurry!” 

The big-framed, alien horses, always tired in that 
climate, were whipped up, and a rising cloud of dust 
hid the carriage from Baboo Dass’ glaring eyes. 

Indignation drove a shower of perspiration 
through the baboo’s greasy pores. He turned to- 
ward the sal-covered hills, and in loud resentment 
appealed to Kali, the dispenser of cholera, beseech- 
ing the goddess to punish the sahibs. 

Baboo Dass was startled by a voice, a soft, femi- 
nine voice, that issued from a carriage that had ap- 
proached unheard. He deserted the evil goddess 
and turned to the woman in the carriage. She was 
attractive; many gold bangles graced her slender 
arms; on her fingers were rings that held in setting 
divers stones, even diamonds. A large mirror ring 
indicated that she was coquettish, and yet a certain 
modesty told that she was not from Amritsar Ba- 
zaar. 

Her voice had asked: “What illness troubles you, 
baboo?” 


60 


THE THREE SAPPHIRES 


Now, as he salaamed, she offered him a ride into 
Darpore town. 

Baboo Dass climbed into the vehicle, expressing 
his gratitude, explaining, as they bowled along, that 
he was a man of affairs, having business with the 
maharajah that morning, and that by mischance he 
had been forced to walk. In reciprocal confidence the 
lady explained she was the wife of a Marwari banker. 

The baboo’s resentment welled up afresh; also a 
little boasting might impress his pleasing companion. 
“To think, lady,” he said, “last night we are royster- 
ing together, those two sahibs, who are lords, and 
me, who am a man of importance in Hamilton Com- 
pany, and now they are coming in the maharajah’s 
carriage and they pass me as if I am some low-caste 
fellow in their own country that works with his 
hands.” 

“That is the way of the foreigners,” the Marwari 
woman answered softly; “they will put the yoke on 
your neck and say ‘Thank you.’ On their lips are 
the words of friendship, in their hand is the knotted 
whip.” 

“When they see I am important man with his 
highness they will not feel so elegant.” 

“I will take you to the drawbridge where it crosses 
the moat to the gate in the big wall,” the Marwari 
woman offered. 

“It is undignified for a man of my importance to 
approach the palace on foot,” declared Baboo Dass. 

The Marwari woman smiled, her stained red lips 
parting mischievously. “But also, Baboo Dass, it 


THE THREE SAPPHIRES 


61 

would not be proper for you to arrive with me. I 
have a way to arrange it that will save both our good 
standing. We will drive to my place of banking, 
then my carriage will take you to the palace, and the 
sahibs will not see you walk in.” 

The baboo was delighted. In India opulent peo- 
ple did not call on rajahs afoot; also the carriage 
was a prosperous-looking vehicle, and the two coun- 
try-bred horses were well fed. 

As they neared the palace, that lay hidden behind 
massive brick walls, they left the main thoroughfare, 
and, after divers turnings, entered a street so nar- 
row that their vehicle passed the mud-walled shops 
with difficulty. A sharp turn, and the carriage 
stopped in a little court. 

Four burly natives rose up from the mud step on 
which they had been sitting, and, at a word from the 
Marwari woman, seized her companion. The baboo 
struggled and sought to cry out for help, but the 
lady’s soft hand deftly twisted a handkerchief into 
his mouth, hushing his clamour. He was torn from 
the carriage none too gently, hustled through an 
open door, and clapped into a chair, where he was 
firmly held by his four attendants. 

A little old man seized a cup wherein was a piece 
of soap, and with his brush beat up a lather, saying 
softly: “Do not struggle, baboo; it is for your good. 
These fevers burn the liver and affect the brain; in 
no time I will have taken the accursed fever from 
your head.” 

Then with a scissors he nimbly clipped the profuse 


THE THREE SAPPHIRES 


62 

locks of the baboo’s head, the latter, having managed 
to spit out the handkerchief, protesting that it was 
an outrage, that he was a jewel merchant from Cal- 
cutta waiting upon the rajah. 

“Yes, yes,” the little man told the four stalwarts 
as he whipped at the lather, “it is even so ; his wife 
spoke of a strange fancy he was possessed of that 
he was a dealer in jewels, whereas he is but a clerk. 
And no wonder, with a fever in the blood and with 
a crown of hair such as a mountain sheep wears.” 

Then he lathered the scalp, stroked the razor on 
the skin of his forearm, and proceeded to scrape. 

The baboo yelled and struggled; the razor took a 
nick out of his scalp. At last the blue-grey poll, 
bearing many red nicks, was clear of hair, and he 
was released. His first thought was of the jewel. 
His searching palm fell flat against his chest; it was 
gone ! With a cry of despair he made for the door; 
the carriage had vanished. 

Whirling about, he accused his captors of the 
theft. The barber, to soothe the fever-demented 
one, said: “Of a surety, baboo, your wife has taken 
the jewel because it was an evil stone that but in- 
creased the fever that was in your blood.” 

The plot dawned upon Baboo Dass. He flung 
out the door and made for the palace. 

“It does not matter,” the barber said; “his wife 
is a woman of business, and this morning when she 
spoke of bringing the sick man she paid in advance.” 
He put in the palm of each of the four a rupee, add- 


THE THREE SAPPHIRES 


63 


ing: “The afflicted man will now go home and sleep, 
his head being cooler, and the fever will go out of 
his blood, for so the doctor told his wife, who is a 
woman of method.” 


Chapter IV 


P RINCE ANANDA had welcomed Lord Victor 
and Captain Swinton on a wide, black-marble 
verandah from which two marvellously carved 
doors gave them entrance through a lordly hall to a 
majestic reception chamber. 

“This is the ‘Cavern of Lies,’ ” Ananda said, with 
a smile, “for here come all who wish to do up the 
governor — and he’s pliant. That, for instance” — 
he pointed to a billowy sea of glass prisms which 
hid the ceiling — countless chandeliers jostling each 
other like huge snowflakes. 

“No end of an idea, I call it — fetching!” Lord 
Victor acclaimed. 

Prince Ananda laughed. “The governor went 
into a big china shop in Calcutta one day when 
Maharajah Jobungha was there. The two mahara- 
jahs are not any too friendly, I may say, and when 
the governor was told Jobungha had already bought 
something he took a fancy to, he pointed to the other 
side of the store, which happened to be the lot of 
glass junk you see above, and told the shop manager 
to send the whole thing to Darpore. Ah, here 
comes the maharajah!” the prince added. 

At the far end of the reception room heavy silk 
curtains had been parted by a gold-and-crimson uni- 
formed servant, who announced in a rich, full voice : 
64 


THE THREE SAPPHIRES 65 

“His highness, the Maharajah of Darpore ! Salaam, 
all who are in his noble presence!” 

A king had stepped into the room; a reawakened, 
bronze-skinned Roman gladiator was coming down 
the centre of the room, his head thrown up like some 
lordly animal. He was regal in the splendour of his 
robes. Above the massive torso of the king, with its 
velvet jacket buttoned by emeralds, the glossy black 
beard, luxuriantly full, as fine as a woman’s hair, 
was drawn up over the ears, its Rembrandt black 
throwing into relief a rose tint that flushed the olive- 
skinned cheek. Deep in the shadow of a massive 
brow were brilliant, fearless eyes that softened as 
they fell on Ananda’s face. In the gold-edged head- 
dress a clasp of gold held blue-white diamonds that 
gleamed like a cascade of falling water. A short 
sword was thrust in a silk sash, its ruby-studded hilt 
glinting like red wine. 

When Prince Ananda presented Swinton and Lord 
Gilfain, the latter as the son of Earl Craig, the 
maharajah’s face lighted up; he held out his hand 
impulsively with simple dignity, saying in Hindus- 
tani: “Sit down, sahibs. The young lord’s father 
was my brother; at court his ear heard my heart- 
beat.” 

A turmoil of vocal strife fell upon their ears from 
without. The baboo had arrived. 

“Oh, murder!” Swinton groaned, recognising the 
Dass voice demanding admittance. 

The rabble sound was coming down the hall as in- 
effectually two attendants clung to the ponderous 


66 THE THREE SAPPHIRES 

Bengali, mad with his affliction. The words: “The 
maharajah’s jewel is stolen!” caused Prince Ananda 
to dart to the door. Seeing him, the servants re- 
leased their grasp of Baboo Dass, and the prince, 
not daring to leave the king’s presence, allowed the 
half-crazed man to enter the room, where he grov- 
eled before the maharajah, bumping his forehead to 
the marble floor and clawing at the royal feet. 

When, at the king’s command, the baboo rose, 
Lord Victor clapped his hand over his mouth to 
smother his mirth, gasping: “Oh, my aunt! That 
head!” 

Like the rattle of a machine gun, Baboo Dass 
poured out his tale of wo. When he had finished, 
the maharajah said calmly: “It doesn’t matter,” and 
with a graceful sweep of his hand suggested that 
Baboo Dass might retire. 

Once more the baboo’s voice bubbled forth. 

“Begone!” And the handsome face of the maha- 
rajah took on a tigerish look. For a second it was 
terrifying; the change was electric. Baboo Dass 
recoiled and fled. 

Then the maharajah’s voice was soft, like a rich- 
toned organ, as he said in Hindustani: “India has 
two afflictions — famine and the Bengali.” 

Beside the rajah was a magnificently carved teak- 
wood chair, a padlocked gold chain across the arms 
indicating that it was not to be used. The carving 
was marvellous, each side reperesenting a combat be- 
tween a tiger and a huge python, the graceful curve 
of whose form constituted the arm. At a question of 


THE THREE SAPPHIRES 


67 


interest from Gilfain, Prince Ananda spoke in Urdu 
to his father. The latter nodded, and Ananda, cross- 
ing to a silver cabinet, unlocked it and returned bear- 
ing a gold casket, upon the top of which was inset 
a large pearl. Within the casket was a half-smoked 
cigarette. 

As if carried away by the sight of this the mahara- 
jah, speaking in Hindustani, which he saw Swinton 
understood, said: “That cigarette was smoked by 
the Prince of Wales sitting in this chair which has 
since been locked. He shook hands with me, sahib; 
we were friends; he, the son of the empress, and I 
a king, who was also a son to the empress.” 

His voice had grown rich and soft and full; the 
fierce, black, warlike rajput eyes were luminous as 
though tears lay behind. The maharajah remained 
silent while Swinton translated this to Lord Victor. 
“Ah, sahibs, if kings could sit down together and ex- 
plain, there would not be war nor distrust nor op- 
pression. When your father” — he turned his face 
toward Gilfain — “was a councillor in Calcutta, close 
to the viceroy, I had honour; when I crossed the 
bridge from Howra as many guns would speak wel- 
come from Fort William as did for Maharajah 
Jobungha. But now I go no more to Calcutta.” 

If Swinton had been troubled in his analysis of the 
prince’s motives and character, he now swam in a sea 
of similar tribulation. The maharajah was big. Was 
he capable of gigantic subtlety, such as his words 
would veil? He could see that Prince Ananda was 
abstracted; his face had lost its jaunty, debonair 


68 


THE THREE SAPPHIRES 


look; worry lines mapped its surface. The loss of 
the sapphire had hit Ananda hard, but if the rob- 
bery had affected the king, he was subtle in a remark- 
able sense, for he gave no sign. 

The maharajah now rose, clapped his hands, and 
when a servant appeared gave a rapid order. The 
servant disappeared, and almost immediately re- 
turned with a silver srlver upon which were two long 
gold chains of delicate workmanship and an open 
bottle of attar of rose. The maharajah pjaced a 
chain about the neck of each sahib, and sprinkled 
them with the attar, saying, with a trace of a smile 
curving his handsome lips : “Sometimes, sahibs, this 
ceremony is just etiquette, but to-day my heart pains 
with pleasure because the son of my friend is here.” 
He held out his hand, adding: “Prince Ananda must 
see that you have the best our land affords.” 


Chapter V 


S WINTON was glad when he saw his dogcart 
turn into the compound to take him to the ked- 
dah sahib’s for tiffin. Lord Victor had been 
hypnotised by the splendour of Maharajah Darpore; 
he went around the bungalow giving vent to ebulli- 
tions of praise. “My aunt, but the old Johnnie is a 
corker! And all the tommyrot one hears at home 
about another mutiny brewing! Damn it, Swinton, 
the war chiefs who want every bally Englishman 
trained to carry a gun like a Prussian ought to be put 
in the Tower!” 

An hour of this sort of thing, and with a silent 
whoop of joy the captain clambered into his dogcart 
and sped away, as he bowled along his mind trou- 
bled by the maharajah angle of the espionage game. 

After tiffin with the major, and out on the ve- 
randah, where they were clear of the servant’s ears, 
Swinton asked: “Who is the mysterious lady that 
rides a grey Persian?” 

He was conscious of a quick turn of Finnerty’s 
head ; a half-checked movement of the hand that held 
a lighted match to a cheroot, and as the keddah sahib 
proceeded to finish the ignition he described the 
woman and her flight over the brick wall. 

“She’s Doctor Boelke’s niece; she has been here 
69 


TO THE THREE SAPPHIRES 

about a month, ” Finnerty answered, when Captain 
Swinton had finished. 

“I wonder why she risked her neck to avoid me, 
major?” 

“Well, she’s German for one thing, and I suppose 
she knows there’s a growing tension between the two 
peoples.” 

Captain Swinton allowed a smile to surprise his 
always set face. “Do you know why I am here, 
major; that is, have you had advice?” 

“Yes,” the major answered. 

“Very good,” Captain Swinton declared. “I’ll 
give you some data. Lord Victor’s father, Earl 
Craig, is under-secretary to India. There was some 
extraordinary jumble of a state document intended 
for the Viceroy of India. Whether its misleading 
phraseology was carelessness or traitorous work on 
the part of a clerk, nobody knows, but it read that 
the sircar was to practically conscript Indians — Mus- 
sulman and Hindu alike — to fight against the Turks 
and Germans in the war that we all feel is about to 
come. This paper bore the official seal; had even 
been signed. Then Earl Craig’s copy of it disap- 
peared — was stolen from Lord Victor, who was 
acting as his secretary. A girl, with whom the young 
man was infatuated, was supposed to have taken it 
for the Prussians for use in India. The girl disap- 
peared, and Lord Victor was sent out here for fear 
he would get in communication with her again. 
Neither Lord Victor nor the earl knows I am a se- 
cret-service man. Maharajah Darpore is marked 


THE THREE SAPPHIRES 


71 


‘low visibility’ in the viceroy’s book of rajah rating, 
and, as Earl Craig wanted an Anglo-Indian as a 
companion to his son, this seemed a good chance to 
investigate quietly. There’s another little matter,” 
the captain continued quietly as he drew from his 
pocket a sapphire in the rough. 

“Where the devil did you get that, captain? I 
thought that old professor pirate had stolen it,” Fin- 
nerty gasped. 

“That’s not the stone you lost last night, major.” 

Finnerty looked at Swinton incredulously as the 
latter handed him the sapphire, for it was exactly 
like the stolen stone, even to the inscription. 

“Let me explain,” Captain Swinton said. “Some 
time since one Akka, a hillman, came down out of 
Kululand into Simla leading a donkey that carried 
two bags of sapphires in the rough. Nobody knew 
what they were, so, of course, he found it hard to 
sell his blue stones. That night the stones disap- 
peared, and Akka was found in the morning at the 
bottom of an abyss with a jade-handled knife sticking 
in his back. He must have dropped over the rocks 
so quickly the killer hadn’t time to withdraw his 
knife. About Akka’s neck, hidden under his dirty 
felt coat, was hung this sapphire, and it was given 
to me, as I was put on the case. I took a trip up 
into Kululand with a hillman who claimed to have 
come in with Akka as guide. I got a very fine bharal 
head — almost a record pair of horns — and a bullet 
in my left leg that still gives me a limp at times, but 


72 


THE THREE SAPPHIRES 

as to sapphires in the rough I never saw another 
until last night.” 

Finnerty laughed. “India is one devil of a place 
for mystery.” 

Swinton related the incidents of the night before, 
and Baboo Dass’ story of the three sapphires, add- 
ing: “Of course that’s Hindu mythology up to date, 
the attributing of miraculous powers of good and 
evil to those blue stones.” 

Finnerty shifted uneasily in his chair; then, with 
a little, apologetic smile, said: “I’m getting less dog- 
matic about beliefs and their trimmings — absolute 
superstition, I suppose — and if a sapphire, or any- 
thing else, were associated in my mind with disaster 
I’d chuck the devilish thing in the river.” 

“At any rate, major, the main thing, so far as my 
mission is concerned, is that if Prince Ananda hap- 
pens to get possession of the three sapphires every 
Buddhist — which means all the fighting Nepalese — 
will believe the expected Buddha has arrived.” 

“By gad! And the three sapphires are in Dar- 
pore — the one that was stolen from me last night, 
the one stolen from Baboo Dass, and this one.” 

“Prince Ananda has yours; I saw Boelke pur- 
posely tip over that table. But who stole the one 
from the baboo I don’t know; it couldn’t have been 
a raj agent, for it belonged to the maharajah.” 

“Where did they come from?” Finnerty queried. 

“Yours, of course, was on Burra Moti’s neck, and 
she must have been attached to some temple ; Akka 
probably murdered some lama who had this one 


d 

2 

O 

HH 

H 

W 

> 

o 

HH 

02 

B 

O 

H 

HH 

2 

O 

H 

M 

H 

H 

> 

HH 

PC 

> 

<0 

d 

HH 

<1 

H 

PC 

HH 

o 

& 

HH 

> 

<72 

w 

O 

o 

o 

r 

a 

> 

u 

w 

B 

o 

2 

NJ 

H 

HH 

H 

B 

H 

a: 

d 

r 

HH 

a 

HH 

HH 

H 


Co 

05 

05 







THE THREE SAPPHIRES 73 

about his neck; where Prince Ananda got the third 
one I don’t know.” 

“By Jove!” Finnerty ejaculated. “It was a hill- 
man that Moti put her foot on. He had been sent 
to steal that bell, as he couldn’t carry the elephant.” 

“Here’s another thing,” Captain Swinton said. 
“In the United States there has been arrested a clique 
of Hindus who have sold a great quantity of rare old 
jewels, gold ornaments, and sapphires in the rough. 
Machine guns and ammunition were bought with the 
money obtained, and quite a consignment is some- 
where on the road now between China and India.” 

“Great Scott! Up this way — to come in through 
Nepal?” 

“The stuff was shipped from San Francisco to 
Hongkong, and though the British government had 
every road leading out of that city watched, they 
never got track of it. Our men there think it was 
transshipped in Hongkong harbour and is being 
brought around to India by water.” 

“Does the government think the maharajah is 
mixed up in this?” 

“I’m here to find out. He mystified me to-day. 
Gilfain thinks he’s magnificent — as natural as a child. 
But he’s too big for me to judge; I can’t docket him 
like I can Ananda. He was as regally disinterested 
over the disappearance of that sapphire as the Duke 
of Buckingham was when his famous string of black 
pearls broke and scattered over the floor at the Tuile- 
ries; but the prince was seething.” 

Finnerty waved his cheroot in the direction of the 


74 


THE THREE SAPPHIRES 


palace hill. “The trouble is up there. Ananda is 
wily; he’s like a moon bear he has there in a cage 
•that smiles and invites you to tickle the back of his 
neck; then, before you know it, the first joint of a 
finger is gone.” 

A little lull in the talk between Swinton and Fin* 
nerty was broken by a turmoil that wound its vol- 
canic force around the bungalow from the stables. 
Finnerty sprang to his feet as a pair of Rampore 
hounds reached the drive, galloping toward a tall 
native at whose heels came a big hunting dog. 

“Faith, I was just in time,” Finnerty said as he 
led the two hounds to the verandah, a finger under 
each collar; “they’d soon have chewed up that Ban- 
jara’s dog.” 

The Rampores were very like an English grey- 
hound that had been shaved; they were perhaps 
coarser, a little heavier in the jaw. A panting keeper 
now appeared, and the dogs were leashed. 

Seeing this, the native approached, and in a deep, 
sombre voice said : “Salaam, Sahib Bahadur !” Hav- 
ing announced himself, the Banjara came up the steps 
and squatted on his heels; the long male-bamboo staff 
he carried betokened he was a herdsman. 

“What do you want, Lumbani ?” Finnerty queried. 

“Yes, sahib, I am a Banjara of the Lumbani caste. 
The sahib who is so strong is also wise in the ways 
of my people.” 

“I wonder what this will cost me in wasted time,” 
the major lamented in English. “I judge his soul is 
weighted with matters of deep import.” Then, in 


THE THREE SAPPHIRES 


75 


Hindustani: “That’s a true Banjara dog, Lumbani.” 

“Yes, sahib, he is one of that great breed. Also 
in the sahib’s hands are two thoroughbred Rampores; 
they be true dogs of the Tazi breed, the breed that 
came from Tazi who slept by the bedside of Nawab 
Faiz Mahomed five generations since. The sahib 
must be in high favour with the Nawab of Rampore, 
for such dogs are only given in esteem ; they are not 
got as one buys bullocks.” 

“What is it you want?” queried Finnerty. 

The Banjara looked at Swinton; he coughed; then 
he loosened the loin cloth that pinched at his lean 
stomach. 

“This dog, sahib — Banda is the noble creature’s 
name — has the yellow eyes that Krishna is pleased 
with; that is a true sign of a Banjara.” He held out 
his hand, and Banda came up the steps to crouch at 
his side. 

At this intrusion of the native’s dog, the patrician 
Rampores sprang the full length of their leash with 
all the ferocity that is inherent in this breed. A 
pariah dog would have slunk away in affright, but the 
Banjara’s yellow eyes gleamed with fighting defiance; 
he rose on his powerful, straight legs, and his long 
fangs shone between curled lips. 

“Good stuff!” Finnerty commented, and to his 
groom added : “Take the hounds away. He’s a sure- 
enough Banjara, Swinton,” he resumed in English. 
“Look at that terrier cast in the face, as though there 
were a streak of Irish or Airedale in him.” 

Indeed, the dog was a beauty, with his piercing 


76 


THE THREE SAPPHIRES 

bright eyes set in the long, flat head that carried 
punishing jaws studded with strong teeth. The neck 
was long, rising from flat, sloping shoulders, backed 
up by well-rounded ribs and arched loins leading to 
well-developed quarters. The chest was narrow and 
deep, and the flanks tucked up. 

“They’re game, too,” Finnerty declared. He 
turned to the owner. “Will Banda tackle a pan- 
ther?” 

“He and his sons have been in at the death of 
more than one; they will follow a leopard into a 
cave.” 

“How much will you take for him?” Swinton 
asked. 

The native looked his scorn. He turned to Fin- 
nerty as though his sarcasm might be wasted upon 
this sahib who thought a Banjara would sell one of 
the famous breed. “Perhaps the strange sahib will 
go to Umar Khan, at Shahpur, and buy one of the 
Salt Range horses — a mare of the Unmool breed. 
When he has I will sell him Banda.” 

Swinton laughed, and, taking a rupee from his 
pocket, passed it to the native, saying: “Food for 
Banda. The sarcasm was worth it,” he added in 
English, “an Unmool mare being above price.” 

“All this talk of the dogs,” Finnerty declared, “is 
that our friend has something on his mind. He was 
studying you, but you’ve broken the ice with your 
silver hammer.” 

The native salaamed, tucked the rupee in his loin 
cloth, and the questioning, furtive look that had been 


THE THREE SAPPHIRES 77 

in his eyes disappeared. He turned to the major: 

“Huzoor, I am a man of many buffaloes, robbing 
none, going in peace with my herds up into the hills 
in the hot weather when the new grass comes green 
and strong from the ashes of the fire that has been 
set out in the spring, and coming back to the plains 
when the weather is cold.” 

“Where is your country?” Finnerty queried. 

“Where my grain bags and my cooking pots are 
is my country, my fathers holding that all lands were 
theirs to travel in. For fifteen years in this moon 
have I remained down yonder by the river with my 
herd, just where the heavy kagar grass makes good 
hunting for tiger, and always on good terms of 
friendship with him.” 

“Gad ! I thought so,” Finnerty ejaculated. “We’ll 
get news of a kill in a minute.” 

“If we met in the path — that is, your slave and 
tiger — I would say: ‘Khudawand, pass here, for the 
thorns in the bush are bad for thy feet,’ and if tiger 
was inclined he would pass, or he would turn. Often 
lying on the broad back of a buffalo as we crossed 
where the muck is deep I would see tiger lying in 
wait for pig or chinkara, and I would call, ‘ Kuda - 
wand } good hunting!’ Then what think you, sahib, 
if after years of such living in peace, this depraved 
outcast, begotten of a hyena, makes the kill of a 
cow?” 

“A tiger, like a woman, is to be watched,” Fin- 
nerty declared, quoting a tribal adage. 

“And all in the way of evil temper, sahib, for the 


78 


THE THREE SAPPHIRES 


cow lies yonder with no mark beyond a broken neck, 
while in the jungles rajah tiger is growling abuse. 
A young cow, sahib, in full milk. For the sake of 
God, sahib, come and slay the brute.” 

The Banjara had worked himself into a passion; 
tears of rage stood in his eyes. “And to think that 
I had saved the life of this depraved one,” he wailed. 

“You saved the tiger’s life, Lumbani?” 

“Surely, sahib. Of the Banjaras some are Mus- 
sulmans — outcasts that lot are — and some are Hin- 
dus, as is your servant, so we are careful in the mat- 
ter of a kill, lest we slay one of our own people 
who has returned. This slayer of my cow always 
took pleasure in being near the buffalo. Why, 
huzoor, I have seen him up in the hills looking as 
though he had felt lonesome without the herd. Not- 
ing that, it was in my mind that perhaps a Banjara 
herdsman had been born again as a tiger. That is 
why I saved his life from the red dogs of the jun- 
gle; nothing can stand before them when they are 
many. From the back of a buffalo I saw one of these 
jungle devils standing on high ground, beckoning, 
with his tail stuck up like a flag, to others of his 
kind.” 

“I’ve seen that trick,” Finnerty commented. 

“The tiger had been caught in a snare of the Naga 
people as he came to partake of a goat they had tied 
up, as he thought, for his eating; the sahib knows 
of what like a snare is to retain a tiger. A strong- 
growing bamboo, young and with great spring, had 
been bent down and held by a trip so that tiger, put- 


THE THREE SAPPHIRES 


79 

ting his paw in the noose, it sprang up, and there he 
was dancing around like a Nautch girl on the rope 
that held his wrist, being a loose bamboo too big for 
a grip of his teeth ; it spun around on the rope. The 
red dogs, hearing his roars, knew he was trapped, 
and were gathering to settle an old dispute as to the 
eating of a kill. They would have made an end of 
him. A mongoose kills a cobra because he is too 
quick for the snake, and they were too quick for the 
tiger; so, taking pity upon him as an old friend, with 
my staff I drove them off; then, climbing into the 
bamboos, cut the rope.” 

“Did you tackle them alone, Lumbani?” 

“Surely, sahib; jungle dogs run from a man that 
is not afraid.” 

Finnerty’s shikarri, Mahadua the Ahnd, who had 
come to the verandah, now said: “The tiger this 
herder of buffalo tells of is ‘Pundit Bagh;’ he is well 
known to all.” 

“And you never brought word that we might make 
the hunt,” Finnerty reproached. 

“Sahib, we Ahnd people when we know a tiger 
is possessed of a spirit do not seek to destroy that 
one.” 

“Why is he called Pundit? Is he the ghost of a 
teacher?” 

“This is the story of Pundit Bagh, sahib: Long 
ago there was a pundit that had a drug that would 
change him into an animal, and if he took another 
it would change him back again.” 


80 


THE THREE SAPPHIRES 

The Ahnd’s little bead eyes watched his master’s 
face furtively. 

“One day as the pundit and his wife were walking 
through the jungle a leopard stepped out in the path 
to destroy them. He gave his wife one powder to 
hold, saying: ‘I will take this one and change into a 
tiger, and when I have frightened the leopard away 
give me the other that I may change back to myself.’ 
But the poor woman when she saw her tiger hus- 
band spring on the leopard dropped the powder and 
ran away; so the pundit has remained a tiger, and is 
so cunning that it will be small use to make the hunt.” 

“But coming and going as he must, Mahadua, how 
know you it is the same one?” 

“By the spectacles of the pundit, sahib; there is 
but one tiger that wears them.” 

Finnerty laughed. “Does he never drop them, 
little man?” 

“Sahib, they are but black rings around his eyes 
— such as are on the back of a cobra’s head — like 
unto the horn glasses the pundit wore.” 

“Baboo Dass declared the tiger that peeped in his 
window wore spectacles ; it must have been this same 
legendary chap,” Swinton remarked. 

An old man came running up the road, between its 
walls of pipal trees, beating his mouth with the palm 
of his hand in a staccato lament. At the verandah 
he fell to his knees and clasped Finnerty’s feet, cry- 
ing: “Oh, sahib, Ramia has been mauled by a tiger 
the size of an elephant, and from the fields all have 
run away. Come, sahib, and slay him.” 


THE THREE SAPPHIRES 


81 


“Pundit Bagh keeps busy,” the major said; “but 
by the time we make all our arrangements it will be 
near evening, and if we wound him we can’t follow 
up in the dark. Go back and keep watch on the tiger; 
to-morrow we will make the hunt,” he told the old 
man. 

To the Hindu to-morrow meant never; when peo- 
ple did not mean to do things they said “to-morrow.” 
Perhaps the sahib was afraid; perhaps he had pre- 
sented the tiger in too fearful a light, so he hedged. 
“Come, protector of the poor, come even now, for 
we are afraid to go into the grass for Ramia. The 
tiger is not big — he is old and lame; one ball from 
the sahib’s gun will kill him. Indeed, sahib, he is an 
old tiger without teeth.” 

Finnerty laughed; but the Banjara flamed into 
wrath at this trifling. “Son of filth ! Skinner of dead 
cattle! Think’st thou the sahib is afraid? And did 
an old, toothless tiger kill a buffalo of mine? Be- 
gone ! When the sahib goes to the hunt, he goes.” 

The Ahnd now said: “Have patience, man of buf- 
faloes; perhaps another, a leopard, is the guilty one. 
Pundit Bagh acts not thus; in fact, in the little vil- 
lage of Picklapara, which he guards, more than once 
when the villagers have made offering to him of a 
goat has he driven away a leopard that had carried 
off an old woman or a child.” 

“Fool! Does a leopard break the neck of a bul- 
lock? Does he not slit the throat for the blood? 
And always does not a leopard first tear open the 
stomach and eat the heart and the liver? I say it 


82 


THE THREE SAPPHIRES 


was the tiger/’ and the Banjara glared at Mahadua. 

“It was a small, old tiger,” the Hindu declared 
again. 

“Seems a bit of luck; evidently ‘Stripes’ is inviting 
trouble,” Swinton observed. 

“You’ll want Lord Victor to have a chance at this 
first tiger, I suppose, captain?” 

“If not too much trouble.” 

“I fancy our best way will be to make the hunt 
from elephants,” Finnerty said musingly. “We can 
beat him out of the grass.” He spoke to the old 
Hindu sternly: “Tell me the truth. Is Ramia still 
with the tiger?” 

The Hindu blinked his eyes in fear. “It may be, 
huzoor, that he ran away to his home, but there is a 
big cut in his shoulder where the beast smote him.” 

“Sahib,” the Banjara advised, “if the Presence 
will go on foot, even as he does many times, I will 
go with him, carrying the spare gun; the tiger knows 
me well and will wait till we are able to pull his whis- 
kers.” 

“These Banjaras haven’t a bit of fear,” Finnerty 
commented. “Is it good ground for elephants?” he 
asked. 

The Banjara’s face clouded. “Sahib, the elephants 
make much noise. Perhaps the tiger will escape; per- 
haps if he comes out in an evil way of mind the ele- 
phant will run away.” 

“Well, Swinton, if you’ll ride back and get Gil- 
fain — what guns have you?” 

“I’ve a Certus Cordite and my old .450 Express.” 


THE THREE SAPPHIRES 83 

“Good as any. Soft-nosed bullets ?” 

“Yes, I have some.” 

“Well, use them; we’ll be pretty close, and you’ll 
want a stopping bullet if the old chap charges. 
What’s Gilfain got?” 

“A battery — a little of everything, from a .22 
Mannlicher up to a double-barrel, ten-bore Paradox.” 

“Tell him to bring the Paradox — it won’t take as 
much sighting as the rifle; Gilfain has probably done 
considerable grouse shooting. He’s almost sure to 
miss his first tiger; nerves go to pieces generally. 
I’ll get two elephants — you and Lord Victor in one 
howdah, and I’ll take Mahadua in the other.” 

“If you’ve got a bullet-proof howdah I’d use it, 
major; I’ve seen that young man do some bally fool 
things.” 

“I wish I could take Burra Moti,” Finnerty said 
regretfully; “she’s a good hunting elephant, but with- 
out her bell I couldn’t depend on her.” 

“Use the stone Fve got for a clapper.” 

“No, thanks.” 

“Why not? It will be under your eye all the time. 
You can take it off at night and put it in your box. 
Besides, nobody will suspect that there’s another sap- 
phire in the bell.” 

“I won’t have time to have a goldsmith beat the 
bell into shape to-day.” 


Chapter VI 


S WINTON drove back to get Lord Victor. 
When his two elephants were ready, Finnerty, 
with the Banjara marching at his side, took the 
road that, halfway to Darpore City, forked off into 
a wide stretch of dusty plain that was cut here and 
there by small streams and backwaters; these latter 
places growing a heavy rush grass that made good 
cover for both the tiger and his prey — swamp deer 
and pig. 

Swinton and Lord Victor were at the fork in the 
road, the latter attired in a wondrous Bond Street 
outfit. “Awfully good of you, old chap,” he bub- 
bled. “Devilish quick work, I call it; I’ll feel like 
cabling the governor in the morning if I bag that 
man-killer.” 

“If I had Burra Moti under me, I’d think that we 
as good as had the tiger padded,” the major de- 
clared ; “but I don’t know anything about my mount 
to-day. I don’t know whether he’ll stand a charge 
or bolt. Keep your feet under those iron straps; 
they’re the stirrups, Lord Victor.” 

“Right-o.” 

They went down off the hill, with its big rhodo- 
dendron trees, and out onto the wide plain, directed 
by the Banjara. In an hour they came to a small 
stream fringed by green rushes; along this for half 
84 


THE THREE SAPPHIRES 


85 


a mile, and the Banjara pointed with his bamboo to 
a heavy, oval clump of grass, saying: “The outcast 
of the jungle is in that cover, sahib.” 

“Now this is the plan,” Finnerty outlined to Swin- 
ton. “Stripes is evidently pretty well fed, and hasn’t 
been shot at, so he’s cheeky. He won’t leave that 
grass in this hot sun unless he has to — that’s tiger 
in general — but this cuss may have some variations. 
He’s quite aware that we’re here. Hark back on 
this road that we’ve come by till you reach that old, 
dry river bed, and go down that till you come to a 
nala that runs out of this big patch of grass. I’ll 
wait till you’re posted there, then I’ll beat in slowly 
through the grass from this side, not making much 
fuss so that Stripes won’t think I’m driving him. 
When he breaks cover from the other end he’ll make 
for that nala. Don’t shoot till you’re sure of your 
shot; just behind the shoulder, if possible, but raking 
forward — that’s the spot.” 

“Sahib,” and the Banjara pointed with his bam- 
boo to where a small bird was circling and darting 
with angry cries above the canes. 

“Yes, that’s where he is,” Finnerty declared; 
“that’s a bulbul — pugnacious little cuss — trying to 
drive Stripes away.” 

Finnerty waited until he was quite sure Swinton 
and his companion would be in position; then at a 
command his mahout prodded the elephant with a 
hooked spear, crying: “Dut-dut, king of all elephants, 
dut-dut !” 

With a fretful squeak of objection the elephant, 


86 


THE THREE SAPPHIRES 


curling his trunk between his tusks for its safety, 
forged ponderously ahead. Like a streamer from 
the topmast of a yacht the bulbul, weaving back and 
forth, showed Finnerty the tiger was on the move. 
The major did not hurry him, knowing that if pressed 
too close he might break back, thinking he was being 
driven into a trap. 

The Banjara, anxious to see the finish of the beast 
that had slain his cow, worked his way along the 
grass patch, watching the bulbul and Finnerty’s how- 
dah, which just showed above the canes. As the tiger 
stealthily slipped away from the advancing elephant 
other jungle dwellers in the kagar grass moved for- 
ward to escape from the killer. Knowledge of this 
movement of game came scenting the wind that smote 
on the Banjara hound’s nostrils. He was a hunting 
dog; his very living depended on it. He saw a honey 
badger slip from the reeds and disappear in a hole 
in a bank; he caught a glimpse of a mouse deer; and 
all the time his master was shaping his course and 
timing it by the bulbul. Where there were so many 
small dwellers of the jungle afoot there surely would 
be some eating, so the hound slipped into the cane 
and drifted ahead of the tiger. 

The wind that had been blowing across the grass 
now took a slant and came riffling the feathered tops 
of the heavy cane from the opposite point, carrying 
a taint of the Gilfain party. 

The tiger, who had been slowly working his way 
in that direction, stopping every few feet to look 
back over his shoulder, threw up his head and read 


THE THREE SAPPHIRES 87 

the warning message — the sahib scent that was so 
different from that of the coconut-oiled natives. 

The sun, slanting in between the reeds, threw 
shadow streaks of gold and brown and black. The 
tiger knew what that meant — that with his synthetic- 
striped skin he was all but invisible at ten paces. He 
circled to the left, and when he had found a thick 
tangle of cane that promised cover, burrowed into 
it like a jungle pig. With his head flat to his fore- 
paws, hiding his white ruff — so like the chin whisker 
of an old man — he easily might be passed without 
discovery. 

The bulbul eyed this performance thoughtfully; a 
tiger lying down for a sleep was something not to 
waste time over. With a little tweak of triumph he 
settled for an instant on the bare arm of a leafless, 
leper-marked dalbergia tree; then, catching sight of 
something he disliked even more than a tiger, and 
still in a warlike mood, he continued on with the dog. 

When Gilfain’s mahout pointed with his goad to 
the bulbul’s squawking approach, the Englishman 
cocked both barrels of his Paradox and waited. 

The dog gradually worked up to the edge of the 
cane, and lay down just within its cover, ready for 
a sudden spring on any small animal that might come 
ahead of the tiger. 

“There is the tiger, just within the tall grass. He 
has seen us and will not come out,” the mahout ad- 
vised. 

“What shall we do, captain?” Lord Victor asked. 
“Go in and beat him out?” 


88 


THE THREE SAPPHIRES 

“No; he’ll break back or take to the side for it. 
If we wait till Finnerty beats up, the tiger will make 
a dash across to that other big stretch of heavy grass 
on our right. There’s a game path between the two, 
and he’ll stick to that.” 

“But I can’t hit him on the gallop — not in a vital 
spot.” 

“If you get a chance at him before he breaks 
cover let go ; if you don’t bowl him over I’ll take a 
pot shot.” 

Suddenly Lord Victor, quivering with excitement, 
his heart beating a tattoo that drowned something 
Swinton whispered, drew a bead on a patch of rufous 
fur that showed between the quivering reeds. 

Back in the canes sounded a squealing trumpet 
note from Finnerty’s elephant. With his keen scent 
he had discovered the tiger. Their elephant an- 
swered the call, and Lord Victor, fearing the animal 
his gun covered would break back, pulled the trigger. 
Unfortunately, and by chance, his aim was good. 

A howl of canine agony followed the report, and 
the Banjara’s dog pitched headfirst out of the cover, 
sat up on his haunches, looked at them in a stupid, 
dazed way, then raised his head and howled from 
the pain of a red-dripping wound in his shoulder. 

Pandemonium broke loose. Down in the cane 
there was the coughing roar of a charging tiger ; the 
squeal of a frightened elephant; the bark of a gun; 
and out to one side the harsh voice of the Banjara 
calling, the growing cadence of his tones suggesting 
he was approaching with alacrity. 


THE THREE SAPPHIRES 


89 


Lord Victor, a presentiment of ribald retribution 
because of his too excellent marksmanship flashing 
through his mind, sprang to his feet just as the ele- 
phant, excited by all these wondrous noises, com- 
menced a ponderous buck; that is to say, an attempt 
to bolt. At the first stride a huge foot went into the 
soft, black cotton soil, and the young nobleman, 
thrown off his balance, dove headfirst out of the how- 
dah. The soft muck saved him from a broken neck; 
it also nearly smothered him. Eyes, nose, mouth 
full — it was squirted in large quantities down his 
spine. 

Swinton started to swear, angered by the mess 
Lord Victor had made of things ; but when that young 
man pulled himself like a mud turtle out of the ooze 
and stood up, the reproach trailed off into a spasm 
of choking laughter. But the Banjara arriving on 
the scene checked this hilarity; indeed it was prob- 
ably Gilfain’s grotesque appearance that saved his 
life. 

Finnerty, too, hove hugely onto the scene, a little 
rivulet of blood streaming from his elephant’s trunk. 
“Were there two tigers?” he called as he emerged 
from the cane. 

His circling eye fell upon the black-mucked noble- 
man. “Gad, man, what’s happened?” he queried, 
clapping a hand to his mouth to smother his laughter. 
Then he saw the dog and its owner, and hastily 
dropping from the howdah pushed over beside Lord 
Victor, saying: “Get back on your elephant.” 

“Look, huzoor!” And the Banjara spread his 


90 


THE THREE SAPPHIRES 

big palm in a denunciatory way toward the dying 
dog. “I, having had my buffalo slain by a tiger that 
I had befriended, and bringing the word to the sahib 
that he might obtain a cherished skin, now have this 
accursed trial thrust upon me. Why should the 
young of the sahibs go forth to do a man’s work, 
huzoor?” 

“It was an accident,” the major replied. “Come 
to the bungalow to-night and you will be given the 
price of two dogs.” 

“Better make it the price of five dogs, major,” 
Swinton called. 

“I’ll pay for a whole pack of hounds; I’ll stock a 
kennel for him. I was too devilish quick on the trig- 
ger.” Lord Victor emptied the black muck from his 
ears. 

The Banjara, not understanding English, looked 
suspiciously at Finnerty, who hedged: “The sahib 
says you will be given the price of three dogs.” 

“Sahib, how shall we fix the price of Banda, that 
is a Banjara? Such are not sold. I have dogs that 
are just dogs, and if I had known that this sahib 
was young in the ways of the hunt I would have 
brought them for his practice. And was there a kill 
of tiger, or did the sahib also shoot somebody’s dog?” 

“Be careful!” Finnerty took a step toward the 
ironical one, who backed up. Then the major said 
in a mollifying way : “We’ll kill the tiger to-morrow.” 

Muttering “Kid, kul — it is always to-morrow for 
a difficult work,” the herdsman took under his arm 
his wounded dog and strode angrily away. 


THE THREE SAPPHIRES 


91 


“Too devilish bad ! He’s fond of that cur,” Lord 
Victor said mournfully. 

“I had a corking good chance at Stripes,” Fin- 
nerty offered, “but I muddled it when my elephant 
almost stepped on the smooth old cuss, who was lying 
doggo; he got up with a roar of astonishment and 
took a swipe at the beast’s trunk. I was holding the 
ten-bore, loaded with shot to fire across the cane 
should Stripes try to break back, and, rattled by his 
sudden charge, I blazed away, peppering him with 
bird shot. So, you see, Gilfain, we’re all liable to 
blunder in this game. We’ll go back now and take 
up the hunt to-morrow.” 

As they went back Mahadua put his hand on Fin- 
nerty’s foot and asked: “Did you see the spectacles 
on Pundit Bagh?” 

Finnerty nodded, for he had seen the black rings 
when the tiger lifted his head. 

“And did sahib put down the ball gun and take 
up the one that is for birds and shoot over Pundit’s 
head because he, too, thinks that it is the spirit of a 
man?” 

“It is not good to offend the gods, Mahadua, if 
one is to live with them, so we will save the killing 
of the pundit for the young sahib who soon goes back 
to Inglistan, where the anger of the gods cannot fol- 
low him,” Finnerty answered solemnly. 

In the other howdah, Lord Victor, in whose mind 
rankled the dog’s shooting, brought up in extenua- 
tion this same matter of Finnerty’s confessed blun- 
der, for he had not caught the chivalry of the major’s 


9£ THE THREE SAPPHIRES 

lie. “I didn’t miss like the major, anyway,” he be- 
gan. 

“No, you didn’t — unfortunately.” Swinton was 
holding a cheroot to a lighted match. 

“Really, captain, I wasn’t so bad. Fancy an old 
hunter like him getting fuzzled and banging at a 
tiger with bird shot.” 

Swinton shot a furtive look at the thin, long-nosed 
face that was still piebald with patches of caked 
lava; then he turned his eyes away and gazed out 
over the plain with its coloured grass and wild indigo 
scrub. A pair of swooping jheel birds cut across, 
piping shrilly: “Did you do it, did you do it!” 

“That’ll be a corking fine yarn for the club when 
I get back,” Lord Victor added. 

“And will you tell them about the dog you shot?” 

“Rather! I didn’t miss, and the 'major did.” 

Swinton turned his brown eyes on »the cheerful 
egoist. “Gilfain, you’re young, therefore not hope- 
less.” 

“I say, old chap, what’s the sequel to that moral- 
ising?” 

“That probably before you get out of India you’ll 
understand just how good a sportsman Major Fin- 
nerty is.” 

Their elephant had been traversing a well-worn 
path along the bottom of a hollow, and where it left 
the nala to reach the plain they suddenly came upon 
the Banjara’s encampment. It was a tiny village of 
dark-coloured tents ; to one side of this was a herd of 
buffalo that had come in from the plain to be milked. 


THE THREE SAPPHIRES 


93 


They could see the herdsman sitting moodily on his 
black blanket, and beside him lay the dead dog. 

The young Englishman viewed not without alarm 
the women who wore belts beneath which were stuck 
old-fashioned pistols and knives. This was the Ban- 
jara custom, but the guilty man feared it was a special 
course of punishment for him. 

Finnerty’s elephant had overtaken them, and now 
again the major had to explain that the dog would 
be paid for three times over, and the tiger would be 
surely shot on the morrow. 

At this promise, a ponderous woman who had the 
airs of a gipsy queen pointed to the slayer of the 
dog and said: “To-morrow the sahib will hunt 
again !” 

The youngsters whooped with joy, catching the 
satire. 

Finnerty ordered the march resumed. 

At a turn, Mahadua pointed to some little red- 
and-white flags that fluttered above a square plinth 
of clay upon which was the crude painting of a ver- 
milion tiger, saying: “That is the shrine of Pundit 
Bagh, and if the sahib wishes to slay him, it being 
necessary in the law of the jungle, it might avert evil 
if sacrifice were made at the shrine.” 

“An offering of sweetmeats and silver?” 

“No, huzoor. If a goat is purchased by the sahib 
and a bottle of arrack, Mahadua will take the goat 
to the shrine, pour the wine on his head till he has 
bowed three times to the god, and cut his throat so 
that the blood falls upon the shrine to appease the 


94 THE THREE SAPPHIRES 

god. Also I will hang up a foot of the goat.” 

“What becomes of the goat?” the major asked. 

“We will make kabobs of the flesh in the little 
Tillage yonder, and hold a feast to-night.” 

Finnerty remained silent, and the Ahnd, to secure 
a feast, fell back upon tangible arguments. “Sahib, 
if the villagers are full with feasting and happy be- 
cause of a little arrack warm in their stomachs, they 
will not go forth in the early morning with conch 
horns and axes to beat upon trees to drive Pundit 
Bagh up into the hills so he may not be slain.” 

“All right, Mahadua, I’ll furnish the goat.” 


PART TWO 



PART TWO 


Chapter VII 

T HEY had come to where the open plain gave 
way to patches of jungle and rolling land clad 
with oak and rhododendron. 

The other elephant came alongside, and Finnerty 
suggested: “We might walk back to my bungalow 
from here on the chance of getting some game for 
the pot. There’s quail, grey and painted pheasants, 
greeti pigeon, and perhaps a peacock — I heard one 
call up in the jungle. I’ve got shells loaded with 
number six for my io-bore.” 

“Good!” Swinton answered. “I’m cramped sit- 
ting here.” 

“I’m game,” Lord Victor agreed. 

Finnerty sent the elephants on, keeping Mahadua, 
the shikari. 

A hot sun was shooting rapidly down close to the 
horizon, glaring like a flaming dirigible. A nightjar 
was swooping through the air like a swallow, utter- 
ing his weird evening call, “Chyeece, chyeece, chy- 
eece!” as they went through a fringe of dwarf bam- 
boos and up into the shadow of the trees. 

Here Finnerty checked, saying: “I’m afraid I’ll 
have to keep in the lead.” He lifted a foot, showing 
a boot made of soft sambar skin with a cotton sole. 
97 


98 


THE THREE SAPPHIRES 


“Every creature in the jungle is on the qui vive, and 
for stalking on foot one has to wear these silent 
creepers.” 

They had not travelled far along the narrow jungle 
path that had been worn smooth by the bare feet of 
natives crossing from village to village when Fin- 
nerty stood rigid and beckoned gently with a fore- 
finger; and when they had reached his side they 
could hear the jabber of monkeys scolding angrily 
far up the path. Between them and the jungle dis- 
cord was a large monkey sitting on the limb of a 
tree, with his face turned away and his long tail 
hanging down. 

Finnerty put a finger to his lips, and, slipping for- 
ward with the soft stealthiness of a leopard, unde- 
tected by the monkey, who was intent on his com- 
panions’ squabble, gave the tail a pull. The startled 
and enraged lungur whisked about and thrust his 
black face, with its fringe of silver-grey whiskers, 
forward pugnaciously, pouring out a volley of simian 
oaths. Seeing a sahib, he stopped with a gasping 
cry of fright and raced up the tree to take a diving 
flight to another. 

“No end of a funny caper!” Lord Victor laughed. 

“No use of keeping quiet now,” the major de- 
clared; “those noisy devils have stirred up every- 
thing. If I were following up a tiger I’d know they 
had spotted him.” 

“Behold, sahib!” And Mahadua pointed to the 
trunk of the rhododendron. 

When Finnerty had closely examined some marks 


THE THREE SAPPHIRES 


99 


about the height of his head in the tree, he said: 
“Even if our friend Pundit Bagh hasn’t an evil 
spirit, .he has a sense of humour; he’s sharpened his 
claws here, and not long ago, either.” 

“Really? Oh, I say, old top, you’re spooling. 
No end of a good draw, though.” And Lord Victor 
chuckled. 

“I’m in earnest,” Finnerty declared crisply. “A 
rhododendron has a bark like rough sandpaper — it’s 
a favourite whetstone for the cat tribe ; and this was 
a big tiger, as you can judge by the height of the 
marks.” 

“There are no pugs on the path, sahib,” Mahadua 
advised, after a search. 

“We’ll keep close together for a bit,” Finnerty 
advised, starting on. 

At Finnerty’s elbow the shikari whispered: “Tell 
the sahibs to talk, so that we come not in a startling 
way upon the Pundit, that he may escape in peace.” 

The major conveyed this message to his compan- 
ions. 

For a hundred yards they walked through a jungle 
that was now silent save for their voices and the slip 
of their feet on the smooth earth. From a tangle of 
raspberry bushes ahead a king crow rose in excited 
flight. 

“That’s a bird that always gets in a rage when 
tiger is about,” Finnerty explained; “so keep your 
eye open — the jungle’s thick here.” 

The major had taken a knife from his pocket, and 
he now ran its sharp blade around two io-bore shells, 


100 


THE THREE SAPPHIRES 


just between the wads which separated the powder 
from the shot, saying, as he slipped first the shot half 
and next the powder half into his gun : “That is now 
practically a ball cartridge, for the shot packet will 
carry like a bullet for a good many yards. I don’t 
think we’ll see him, though. Ah! Mistaken!” 

A magnificent striped creature slipped without 
noise from some thick undergrowth twenty yards 
ahead, and now stood across the path, his huge head 
turned so that the questioning yellow eyes were full 
upon them. 

“Pundit Bagh — see his spectacles, sahib !” Maha- 
dua gasped. 

The curious black oval markings added to the sin- 
ister malignity of the unblinking eyes. 

“Don’t move, you chaps; he’s only bluffing. If 
you weaken he’ll charge,” Finnerty cautioned. 

“I will speak to Pundit Bagh,” Mahadua said, 
stepping a pace forward. “Kudawand, Protector of 
the Village, go in peace. Did not the sahib this day 
give you back your life ? Did not the sahib put down 
the rifle and take up the bird gun and shoot in the 
air over your head? Go in peace, Kudawand, lest 
the sahib now smite thee with the ball gun.” 

“Have you a box of matches, Swinton?” the ma- 
jor asked, a quick thought coming to him that prob- 
ably the tiger, in his migrations to the hills, had 
learned to dread the fire line of the burning grass. 

Something of this scheme registered in Swinton’s 
brain, for he answered: “I’ve got a newspaper, too.” 

“Give the paper and matches to Mahadua.” Then 


THE THREE SAPPHIRES 


101 


to the servant he added: “Roll the paper like a torch 
and light it.” 

The tiger watched this performance with interest. 
There is no dweller of the jungle but is a victim of 
curiosity — the unusual will always arrest their atten- 
tion; and the tiger’s attitude assured Finnerty that 
he really had no fixed purpose; it would take very 
little to make him either attack or retreat. If it had 
not been for the Banjara’s buffalo, killed out of pure 
deviltry, and the mauled native, Finnerty would have 
had no hesitation in thinking the tiger would turn 
from the path if they kept steadily advancing. 

When Mahadua struck a match on the box, its 
snapping hiss and flare of light caused an uneasy 
shift of the spectacled eyes. When the paper showed 
its larger flame, the look of distrust and suspicion 
increased; the bristled lips twisted in a nervous 
snarl; the powerful tail that had been swinging in 
complacent threatening from side to side now stilled 
and dropped. 

“Move on!” Finnerty commanded, stepping slow- 
ly forward, the io-bore held waist-high, both fingers 
on the triggers. 

Mahadua, holding the burning paper straight in 
front of him, kept pace with his master, Swinton and 
Lord Victor following close. 

The sinister ominousness of this performance, its 
silent aggression, wakened in the tiger’s wary mind 
the dominant thought of his lifetime — caution, sus- 
picion of a trap. It was a supreme test of unheated 
courage between two magnificent creatures, each of 


102 


THE THREE SAPPHIRES 


his own species — the gigantic man and the regal 
tiger; and the physical advantage was with the 
beast. Step by step, slow-measured, Finnerty and 
the shikari pressed forward. The Pundit now swung 
his lithe body with sinuous grace till he stood ag- 
gressively straight in the path, his head lowered so 
that a little furrow showed between his shoulder 
blades and the red-green eyes slanted evilly upward 
through the spectacles. 

Finnerty read the sign. If the tiger crouched flat 
to earth, ready for a spring, it would be well to halt 
and try still further his courage by calmly waiting 
his attack. The big tail had ceased its rhythmic 
swing, but did not stiffen in ferocity; it curved down- 
ward. Even that beat of the pulse of events Fin- 
nerty gauged. 

At ten yards Lord Victor had ceased to breathe; 
he wanted to scream under the cracking strain. He 
felt a hand on his arm — it was Swinton’s. The paper 
torch palpitated in the native’s trembling hand; but 
he faltered not, though the vicious eyes were ever on 
him and the fire. Nine yards, eight yards — all a 
hell of silent, nervous strain. Seven yards — the tiger 
turned in a slow, voluptuous glide, his ominous eyes 
still on the torchbearer, and slipped through the 
bushes to the jungle beyond. 

Finnerty quickened his pace to a fast walk, say- 
ing: “Put the light out — save the paper.” 

Presently Mahadua touched Finnerty’s elbow and 
held up a hand. Listening, the major heard the 
“miouw” of a peacock — not the usual, droning note, 


THE THREE SAPPHIRES 


103 


but a sharp, angry screech. Immediately the alarmed 
belling of a sambar came from the direction in which 
the peacock had called, followed by a short, muf- 
fled roar from the tiger. 

“Missed him !” Finnerty commented. He turned 
to his companions. “Our shooting has been spoiled; 
we’ll just push on to my bungalow.” 


Chapter VIII 


C APTAIN SWINTON and Lord Victor re- 
mained with Finnerty for dinner, and after 
that meal, sitting on the verandah, the latter 
asked: “What sort of bally charm did that shikari 
repeat when he made that ripping address to the 
tiger, major?” 

Finnerty looked at Swinton and the latter nodded 
violently; but the major answered curtly: “I forget.” 

“Oh, I say! I want to know, old top — it’ll go well 
when I tell the story in London.” He turned to 
Swinton. “Captain, perhaps your memory is bet- 
ter.” 

“If you must know,” Swinton answered, in mock 
resignation — for he was most anxious to interpret 
the native’s words — “Mahadua told the tiger to play 
the game, for Finnerty had purposely put down his 
rifle, taken up the shotgun, and fired over his head 
to spare his life.” 

“That’s when you made the fumble in the how- 
dah, eh, major? It would have been quite on the 
cards for him to have mauled you to-day. You 
should have potted him when you had a chance on 
the elephant.” 

Tried beyond patience by Gilfain’s obtuse egotism, 
Swinton blurted: “Mahadua lied to the tiger; he 
was concealing the fact that Major Finnerty spared 

104 


THE THREE SAPPHIRES 105 

his life that you might have the glory of the kill later 
on. 

“But, I say, this is no end of a draw; the major 
told us he got rattled and pumped bird shot into 
Stripes.” 

With a sigh, Swinton gave up the hopeless task; 
and Finnerty, to change the venue, said : 

“I don’t think we were in any danger, really. A 
tiger is considerable of a gentleman; all he asks is 
to be left alone to kill his legitimate prey. And if 
it weren’t for him the wild pig and deer would eat 
up the crops of the poor.” 

“But tigers kill a lot of human beings,” Lord 
Victor contended. 

“About two in every million are killed annually by 
tigers in India — that’s statistical. Wolves, leopards, 
hyenas kill far more. Also a very few tigers do the 
killing, and generally it was man’s fault in the first 
place. A griffin comes out to the service, makes a 
bad shot in the dark, and the tiger is wounded; the 
rankling wound makes him ferocious and he kills 
any human that comes within his reach. If he recov- 
ers he may be incapacitated for killing game — who 
are either strong or swift — and, driven by hunger, 
he takes the easiest mark, man.” 

The Banjara had come up the road unnoticed. He 
now stood at the steps, and, with his black eyes fixed 
on Lord Victor, said, in heavy gravity: “ Salaam , 
shikari sahib.” 

“Will you pay the beggar for that dog, major? 


106 


THE THREE SAPPHIRES 


I’ll send the money over,” Lord Victor said, miss- 
ing the sarcasm. 

When, after much bargaining, the blood debt had 
been wiped out at twenty rupees, the Banjara, ring- 
ing each coin by a spin in the air with his thumb 
nail, broached the matter of his deferred revenge. 

“What of the slaying of that debased killer of 
my cow, O sahib?” he asked. “I will tie up a young 
buffalo, so be it the sahib will pay for it, and, as the 
tiger has got in this way of amusing himself, he will 
come. But” — and he cast a scornful glance at Lord 
Victor — “do you make the kill, major sahib?” 

“It is too late. We will take a dozen elephants 
to-morrow and make a wide beat, driving the tiger 
up to the guns.” 

But the native shook his head. “The sahib knows 
that if the elephants are not trained to the hunt they 
are no good, and tiger knows it. When he smells 
that it is a trap, he will break back, and some of the 
elephants will not stand. But if the sahib will pay 
me and my brothers we will take all our buffalo and 
drive tiger ahead of them. He will not break 
back through the buffalo, for I will take them first 
to smell of the blood of the cow he has slain.” 

“A good idea,” Finnerty declared; “the buffalo 
make great beaters — Stripes won’t face them. All 
right!” he told the Banjara. “I’ll post the sahibs 
on elephants. Get your men and buffalo ready for 
two o’clock — it will take me till that time to get 
things ready.” 

“The tiger will be in the same grass, huzoor,” 


THE THREE SAPPHIRES 


107 

the Banjara said; “but if the young sahib shoot a 
buffalo or another dog, that also he will be required 
to pay for. My brothers will be behind the buffalo, 
walking slowly, that they do not come too sudden 
upon the tiger, and they are men of passion.” 

Then the herdsman went clanking down the road, 
feeling that he had done all that could be done in 
the way of insurance. 

They sat for an hour planning a grand hunt for 
the next day. Prince Ananda must be invited; a9 
they were shooting over his grounds, it was only 
proper courtesy. The prince would bring his own 
elephant, of course, but reliable hunting elephants 
were scarce. The one Lord Victor and Swinton had 
used that day had shown either a white feather or 
too excitable a temperament ; he would only do to put 
on the side of the cane belt as a stop to keep the 
tiger from cutting out. Finnerty’s elephant had 
proved fairly steady, but he needed another; he 
would give that one to Swinton and Lord Victor and 
in the morning get a goldsmith to beat out Mod’s 
bell, putting a metal clapper in it. The maharajah 
had elephants, but none well trained for a drive, 
because the maharajah never shot anything. 

Before leaving Swinton took the major into the 
bungalow and gave him the sapphire to use in the 
bell should it be necessary, insisting that it was as 
safe with Finnerty as it was with him. At any rate, 
he did not value it highly, not placing any faith in 
its miraculous power. 

The moon had risen when the two drove back to 


108 


THE THREE SAPPHIRES 

their bungalow in the major’s dogcart. As they 
swung to enter the gate, the horse recoiled with a 
snort of fear; the check was so sudden that Swinton, 
to avoid a headfirst dive, jumped, cannoning into a 
native, who, his face covered by his loin cloth, dashed 
from the compound. Instinctively Swinton grabbed 
the fleeing man; but the latter, with a dexterous 
loosening twist of his garment, left it in the captain’s 
hands and sped away. On the ground lay a white 
envelope and a small notebook that had fallen from 
a fold of the cloth, and these Swinton put in his 
pocket, saying : “That man has been up to some dev- 
iltry.” To Finnerty’s syce he added: “Take the 
tom-tom back; we’ll walk to the bungalow.” 

“I say, old chap,” cried Lord Victor, “don’t you 
know this is no end of a risky caper; that urban tiger 
dashed that fellow — what!” 

“We’d be in a hat if we stuck to the tom-tom in 
that event; that flooey-headed horse would kill us if 
the tiger didn’t.” 

At that instant the captain’s foot caught something 
that projected from the crotons. A look disclosed a 
pair of legs. There was something familiar about 
these white-trousered limbs that terminated in canvas 
shoes, and their owner must be either very drunk or 
dead. Swinton grasped the projecting feet and pulled 
their owner to the drive, where he lay on his back, 
the moonlight glinting the glazed eyes. It was Per- 
reira — and he was dead. His neck showed an abra- 
sion as though a rope had scorched it; and when 


THE THREE SAPPHIRES 109 

Swinton lifted the dead man’s shoulders the head 
hung limp like the head of a rag doll. 

“That old Thug trick !” Swinton declared. “Some- 
body caught him from behind with a towel across 
the throat, threw him to the ground, put a foot on 
his back, and with one twist broke his neck,” 

“Murdered!” Lord Victor gasped. 

“Yes. That native I met at the gate did the 
trick.” Raising his voice, the captain called : “ Chow - 
kidarf Watchman!” 

There was an answer from somewhere in the com- 
pound, and the evil-faced native they had seen the 
night before came hurrying to where they stood. 

“If the half-caste sahib is dead he must have fallen 
from a horse and broke his neck,” the watchman de- 
clared. 

“Call the servants and carry him into the bunga- 
low where the baboo is; then go at once down to the 
police and tell who killed this man,” Swinton com- 
manded. 

At that instant Baboo Dass, who, startled by 
the clamour, had waited in fear on the verandah, now 
ploughed through the bushes, saying: “Please, sar, I 
will be frighted if defunct body is brought within. 
This place is too much evil-spirited. If tiger is not 
devour I am head-shaved like a felon and burglared 
of jewel.” 

But Swinton turned away and proceeded with 
Lord Victor to their bungalow, leaving Baboo Dass 
wrangling with the watchman. 

Lord Victor was in a captious mood over the rapid 


110 


THE THREE SAPPHIRES 

succession of stirring episodes. “No end of a som- 
nolent old India — what!” he said ironically, sitting 
on Swinton’s bed. “I’m bally well dashed with all 
the floaty creeps. We’ve only been here twenty-four 
hours, and we’ve dined with the rajah, seen a top- 
ping wrestling bout, been at a temple riot, chevied a 
tiger out of our front yard, entertained a baboo 
flooey on Hindu gods, had a drive for a tiger ” 

“Shot a Banjara dog,” Swinton interrupted, be- 
cause he wanted to go to bed. 

“Rather! And made a devilish good shot. Then 
we were spoofed by Stripes, and found a murdered 
man on the doorstep. A tallish order, I call all that. 
Going some — what!” 

Swinton yawned sleepily, and when Lord Victor 
had gone to his room he took from his pocket the 
notebook and letter he had picked up. The letter 
was addressed to himself and contained two rupees. 
The notebook contained curious, ambiguous entries. 
To a casual reader they would have meant nothing, 
but to Swinton they were a key to a great deal. With 
a small screw driver he took the shoulder plate from 
the butt of a gun, and, wedging the book in the hol- 
low with some paper, replaced the plate. 

Undoubtedly the little black book had something 
to do with Perreira’s death. He would have been 
closely watched since the watchman had listened on 
the verandah the night before, and it would be known 
he was coming to see the captain. 


Chapter IX 


N EXT morning Swinton again rode alone, 
Lord Victor declaring he would have enough 
exercise in the hunt that day. 

As Shabaz came out of his loping canter and stead- 
ied to a leisurely gait up the palace hill, Rada, the 
groom, overtook his master. 

“Put a hand on the stirrup,” Swinton commanded, 
“for the hill is long and your legs are the legs of 
experience.” 

“As the sahib wishes; but I know little of her who 
rides the grey stallion,” Rada replied, grasping the 
iron. Swinton chuckled at the naive admission that 
the servant took it for granted he was to talk, be- 
ing thus favoured. 

“It is the way of my people,” Rada resumed, 
when his breath came easier, “that when we make 
speech with a sahib we watch his eyes for a sign, 
and if it is one of displeasure we then tell lies to 
avert his anger; but with the captain sahib this may 
not be done.” 

“Why, Rada?” 

“Sahib knows the karait — the snake with an eye 
that is all red?” 

“Deadly as a cobra.” 

“Yes, sahib; and our people say that if one looks 


hi 


112 


THE THREE SAPPHIRES 


for a long time into that red eye that never shifts 
nor blinks nor gives a sign, he will go mad.” 

“Delightful! And mine are like that, Rada?” 

“No, sahib; only so far as that they give no sign. 
So if I make speech that is displeasing, the presence 
must command me to be still.” 

After a time Rada said: “The Missie Baba will 
not ride the grey stallion to-day?” 

“Why not?” 

“I know not, except that she has reported that the 
stallion is lame ; but the groom says he is not lame.” 

Reaching the plateau, Swinton followed a road 
that swung around the Place of Roses. Over the 
brick wall floated the sweet perfume of myriad flow- 
ers, to give place presently to the tang of animal 
life as they came to the tiger garden. A jungle 
clamour vibrated the morning air; cockatoos and 
parrakeets called shrilly beyond the brick wall; a 
hornbill sent forth his raucous screech; pigeons of 
all colours, green, blue, grey, fluttered free in the air, 
waiting for the grain that would presently be scat- 
tered by the keepers. The unpleasant, sputtering 
laugh of a hyena, raucously grating, mingled with the 
full, rich-toned monologue of leopards that paced 
restlessly their cages, eager for their meal of blood- 
dripping meat. 

Then the road crawled restfully into the cool of 
a noble sal forest. To the right it branched present- 
ly, and he caught the glint of white marble splitting 
the emerald green. 

“The lady who rides the grey stallion lives yon- 


THE THREE SAPPHIRES 


113 


der with the large sahib who is her uncle,” Rada 
explained; and as they came to a path on the left 
a little beyond, he continued: “This leads to Jadoo 
Nala, wherein is a pool.” 

Captain Swinton turned Shabaz into the path, fol- 
lowing it to the edge of the plateau and down its 
winding course to the pool. 

Pointing to a machan in a pipal tree that overhung 
the pool, Rada said: “That is the rajah’s, but no 
one makes a kill here — it is but for the pleasure of 
the eye. Knowing this, the dwellers of the jungle 
come to drink of the waters that are sweet with salt, 
and depart in peace ; though it is said that at times 
a spirit, in the shape of an evil leopard, creeps from 
yonder cave and makes the kill of a deer or a sam- 
bar. In the cave yonder, Buddha, who was once of 
our faith, lamented on the sins of the world till his 
tears made the stream sweet with salt, and so it has 
remained. The cave is an abode of evil spirits; 
lights have been seen, and deep noises heard such as 
the hill gods make.” 

“Who comes to the pool, Rada — for there is the 
machan?” 

Rada lifted his small, black, twitching eyes to the 
placid, opaque ones of Swinton. “The sahib knows 
what talk over a hookah is, each one trying to show 
great knowledge; but it is whispered at such times 
that the Missie Baba, who fears neither horse nor 
spirit, comes here at night.” 

“For what purpose — to meet some one?” 


[114 


THE THREE SAPPHIRES 


‘‘Of that Rada knows nothing; that the evil gos- 
sips say it is the rajah is perhaps a lie.” 

Swinton turned Shabaz up the path, and at the top 
rode a little tour of inspection, following a road that 
circled above the winding stream. Overlooking the 
Jadoo cave and the path that wound down the hill- 
side was a heavy wall built of stone that had been 
taken from the buried city. 

“Most delightful place to plant a machine gun, 
or even a ‘three-inch,’ ” the captain muttered. 

A reverberating tiger roar shook the earth as 
Swinton rounded the Place of Roses on his way back, 
and past its wall he came suddenly upon Lord Victor 
in active controversy with a lop-eared native horse 
he was more or less astride of. Evidently the sud- 
den tiger call had frightened the horse, for he was 
whirling, with his long ewe neck stretched high in 
air, his lop ears almost brushing the clinging rider’s 
face. Lord Victor had lost his stirrups; he was 
practically over the pommel of the saddle, sitting the 
razor-bladed wither. A country bred’s neck is like a 
piece of rubber hose, and Anglo-Indians have learned 
to sit tight and let him have his head; but Lord Vic- 
tor climbed up the reins, pulling the brute’s head 
into his lap, and when to save himself he threw an 
arm around the lean neck, down went the head and 
he was sent flying, to sprawl on his back, where he 
lay eyeing the smiling captain. 

Having unseated his rider, the country bred, for- 
getting all about the tiger, stood looking with com- 


THE THREE SAPPHIRES 115 

placent vacuity at the groom, who now held him by 
the rein. 

“Thought you weren’t riding this morning,” Swin- 
ton remarked, as they went down the hill. 

“Changed my mind. You didn’t happen to see 
a young lady on a grey stallion this morning, did 
you, old chap?” 

“I did not. And the earl expects you to ride 
away from spins, not after them, out here.” 

“The governor is optimistic. This is only curios- 
ity — to see the girl Ananda is going to make his 
queen.” 

“Where did you hear that rot?” 

“The usual source — my bearer.” 

“Bad form. It’s all idle gossip, too; she’s the 
niece of old Boelke.” 

“Oh, now I know why you ride up on the hill 
every morning. Did your bearer tell you? Earl 
Craig expects you to keep away from skirts while 

By Jove ! What’s the bally shindy — are they 

planting another brass god in the temple?” 

Lord Victor’s sudden change in discourse had been 
caused by sounds of strife that came from a Hindu 
village that lay between Maha Bodhi Hill and Dar- 
pore City. 

“The men of the temple and others who are fol- 
lowers of Mahadeo live yonder in Chota Darpore,” 
Rada said. 

As eager as a boy at the clang of a fire bell, Lord 
Victor, his eyes alight with sporting fervour, cried : 


116 THE THREE SAPPHIRES 

“Come on, captain; every bally hour in this land of 
the poppy has its spiffing thrill.” 

Arrived on the scene, a unique battle lay before 
their eyes. The centre of the conflict was a silk- 
skinned, terrified little cow tied to a stake. A fanat- 
ical Mussulman priest, ordained to the bloodletting, 
waited with a sharp knife behind a battling line of 
Allah men for a chance to slit the cow’s throat. With 
the followers of Mohammed were ranged the adher- 
ents of Buddha in a battle line that checked the Hin- 
dus, who, with fierce cries of “Metro, maro l” fought 
to rescue the cow and stop this offence against their 
gods — the slaying of a sacred animal. 

Heads cracked beneath the fall of staves, and 
red blood spurted from a knife thrust or the cut of 
a tulwar. Swinton smiled grimly as he saw here 
and there a man in a green-and-gold jacket bring his 
baton down on the neck of a Mussulman — always a 
Mussulman, for these men of the green-and-gold 
jackets were the Hindu police of the maharajah. 

Encouraged by their gaunt leader, the Hindus 
charged fiercely, and, seizing the cow, bore it toward 
their village, fighting a rear-guard action as the Mus- 
sulmans, with cries of “Allah! Allah!” charged over 
the bodies of men who lay in the silent indifference 
of death, or writhed in pain. There was a desperate 
melee, a maelstrom of fanatical fiends, out of which 
the Mussulmans emerged with the sacrificial victim 
to fight their way backward to the slaughter mound. 

The tinkle of a bell, the “phrut-phrut” of an ele- 


THE THREE SAPPHIRES 117 

phant, caused Swinton to turn toward the road. It 
was Finnerty on Burra Moti. 

The mahout, at a command from the major, drove 
Moti into the fray, where she, with gentle, admonish- 
ing touches from the mahout’s feet against her ears, 
picked up one combatant after another, tossing them 
without serious injury to one side. But the fanatics, 
religion-crazed, closed in again in Moti’s wake and 
smote as before. One Mussulman, whose red-dyed 
beard bespoke one who had been to Mecca, threw 
a heavy Pathan knife at Finnerty, just missing his 
mark. 

Suddenly a shrill voice rose in a screaming com- 
mand; there w r as terror in the voice that came from 
the lips of a gigantic Tibetan priest, who stood with 
extended arm pointing to the tinkling bell on Moti’s 
neck. As though strong wind had swept a field of 
grain, the Buddhists ceased the combat and stood 
with bowed heads. Even the Mussulmans, realising 
from the priest’s attitude that it was something of 
holy import, rested from warfare. 

“It is the sacred elephant of the Zyaat of Buddha 
Gautama !” the priest said, when the tumult had 
stilled. 

Then spoke Finnerty, seizing upon this miraculous 
chance : “Cease from strife ! You who are of Chota 
Darpore, go back to your village; you who are fol- 
lowers of the Prophet, the grace of Allah be upon 
you, go your way, for even some of you are servants 
of mine at the keddah. As to the disciples of Bud- 
dha, the bell on the sacred elephant recalls them to 


[118 THE THREE SAPPHIRES 

peace. I will take away from strife the cow, so 
that there be no killing.” 

He called to one of his Mussulmans, saying: 
“Come you, Amir Khan, and take the cow to the 
keddah.” 

The scarlet-whiskered Pathan who had thrown 
the knife stepped forward, and in his rough voice 
said: “Sahib, these infidels, these black men, have 
desecrated the shrine of Sheik Farid by tying there 
a pig, therefore it is injustice if we be not allowed 
to crack a few heads and spill the blood of a cow on 
the doorstep of their village.” 

“You threw the knife, Hadjii; you’re a poor 
marksman,” Finnerty answered. 

“Yes, sahib, it was an unlucky throw; but a man 
fell against my elbow at that point, or the sahib 
would have received my gift. Perhaps the next 
time I will have better luck.” 

With a smile at the Pathan’s grim humour, Fin- 
nerty said: “The spirit of a saint like Sheik Farid 
is not disturbed by the acts of infidels. I will speak 
to the rajah and have the village fined a matter of 
many rupees to be paid to your people, Hadjii.” 

From the Buddhists, who stood in a semicircle 
eyeing Burra Moti with reverence, a priest came for- 
ward, saying: “We have fought with the idolators 
because the shrine rests on the ‘Rock of Buddha,’ 
and so is sacred to us, too. The sahib has seen in 
the flat rock the footprint of Prince Sakya Sinha 
where he stood and became Buddha?” 


119 


THE THREE SAPPHIRES 

“But Buddha commanded peace, not strife,” Fin- 
nerty reminded the priest. 

At that instant Burra Moti, undoubtedly bored 
by inaction, reached back with her trunk and tinkled 
the bell. It was like a voice crying out of the tem- 
ple. The Buddhists in silence went away; Amir 
Khan, at a command, departed with the cow of dis- 
cord. 

Burra Moti was turned, and, with Lord Victor 
and Swinton riding at his side, Finnerty swept re- 
gally down the road. 

“Your elephant seems deuced happy, major; she’s 
got a tooty little gurgle that suggests it. Where did 
you find your sapphire bell clapper?” Lord Victor 
queried. 

“Oh, this isn’t ” Finnerty caught the import 

of Swinton’s gasping cough in time to switch, add- 
ing: “This is a clapper the old goldsmith fixed up 
for me, and it’s doing beautifully. Moti is like a 
woman that has found a necklace she had lost.” 
This latter for Captain Swinton’s edification. 

“Why doesn’t Prince Ananda sit on these bally 
fire-eating worshippers — why do you have to keep 
them in hand, major?” Lord Victor wanted to know. 

Finnerty pondered for a minute. He could have 
told the captain in a very few words his idea of 
Ananda’s reasons for keeping out of the matter, 
but with Lord Victor he would have to answer cau- 
tiously. 

“The rajah’s police wallahs were there,” he an- 
swered; “but they’re never any good. As for my 


120 


THE THREE SAPPHIRES 

part in it, the Maha Bodhi Temple is really under 
government supervision, being practically a national 
Buddhist institution. The government never inter- 
feres with either Hindus or the Buddhists there un- 
less it might be in just such a case as this, to stop a 
riot. To tell you the truth, I’ve rather exceeded my 
authority, acting without an invitation from the ma- 
harajah or an order from the government; how- 
ever, as it was a drawn battle, nobody will appeal to 
the powers. The keddah is something in the same 
way,” Finnerty added, as they jogged along; “it’s 
in Darpore territory, but the government has an ar- 
rangement with the maharajah, as this is an ideal 
spot as a centre for our elephant catching all through 
the Siwalik Hills.” 

At the fork in the roads the major called back: 
“Aft^r you’ve had breakfast, get your hunting kit 
all ready, captain. I’ll meet you with the elephants 
at the same place as yesterday, at one o’clock. We 
mustn’t keep the old Banjara waiting — we’re to be 
on the ground at two — his buffalo might stir up 
Stripes before we arrive.” 


Chapter X 


T HERE was a scowl on his face as Lord Vic- 
tor, looking so pink and white after his bath, 
sat down to breakfast, growling: “There’s 
a bally London fog of that attar fume in my room; 
somebody’s been pawing my letter case, kit bag — 
everything. It isn’t my bearer, for he smells chiefly 
of dried fish and opium.” 

“The attar would suggest a woman — a jealous 
woman looking for love letters ; but you haven’t been 
here long enough, Gilfain,” the captain remarked. 

A servant entered with a broiled fish, and Swinton 
switched Lord Victor to a trivial discussion of food. 
When the servant reappeared later with curry, the 
captain said : “Leave it on the table, Abdul, and sit 
without.” Then, rising, he added: “I’ll be back in 
a minute. 

“My stuff has been censored, too,” he said, on his 
return. 

“What’s the devilish idea — loot?” 

“No; nothing missing.” 

“Who’s doing it — servants?” 

“This is India, youth; here we don’t bother chas- 
ing ‘who ;’ we lock up everything, or destroy it.” 

“I’m going to dash the bearer with an exam,”’ 
Lord Victor said decidedly. 

121 


122 THE THREE SAPPHIRES 

“You’d get nothing but lies; you’d draw blank.” 

The captain lapsed into a moody silence, complet- 
ing a diagnosis of this disturbing matter mentally. 
The attar suggested that somebody on intimate terms 
with Prince Ananda had investigated. Doctor 
Boelke would do it; he could read papers written in 
English and assimilate their contents. If Swinton 
were under suspicion, Prince Ananda would look for 
proofs as to whether he was a secret-service man or 
just the companion of Lord Victor. 

Later, when, with Finnerty, they arrived at the 
hunt-ground, the Banjara, who was waiting, said: 
“My brothers have taken the buffalo to the west of 
the big growth of tall grass wherein is the slayer of 
my cow, because from that side blows the wind and 
it will carry the scent of the buffalo, and the tiger 
will move forward, not catching in his nostrils word 
of the guns which the sahib knows well how to place. 
When the sahib is ready, I will give the call of a 
buffalo, and my brothers will make the drive. Where 
will be the place of the young sahib, that I may re- 
main near in the way of advice lest he shoot one of 
my people, or even a buffalo?” 

“Where will the tiger break to, Lumbani?” Fin- 
nerty asked. 

The Banjara stretched his long arm toward the 
north. “At that side of the cane fields lies a nala 
that carries a path up into the sal forest, and the 
tiger knows it well. If he is not annoyed with hurry, 
he will come that way out of the cane; and if the 
young sahib’s elephant is stationed in the nala, the 


THE THREE SAPPHIRES 123 

tiger will come so close that even he can make the 

kill.” 

“That’s the idea,” Finnerty declared. “Swinton, 
you and Lord Victor take your elephant to the nala 
— the Banjara will show you the very spot to stand; 
I’ll post the prince on our left when he arrives; I’ll 
keep the centre, and if the tiger is coming my way I 
can turn him off with old Moti — I’ll shoo him over 
to you. Here comes the prince now. Heavens, 
you’d think he was going to a marriage procession! 
Look at the gorgeous howdah ! And he has got old 
Boelke and the girl, too.” 

The howdah was a regal affair, such as native 
princes affect on state occasions. The girl was al- 
most hidden by the gilded sides of its canopied top ; 
indeed, her features were completely masked by a 
veil draped from the rim of her helmet. The heavy 
figure of Doctor Boelke bulged from the front of 
the howdah. 

“Where are we stationed, major?” Ananda called, 
the mahout checking their elephant some distance 
away. 

“To the left, beyond the pipal tree.” 

Swinton chuckled, observing Gilfain stretching his 
long neck as the prince’s elephant plodded on; evi- 
dently there was to be no introduction. 

“We’d better get placed at once,” Finnerty de- 
clared; “the buffalo may get out of hand — anything 
may happen. The elephants that will act as stops 
are already in place on the two sides; I sent them 
on ahead. The natives on their backs will keep tap- 


124 


THE THREE SAPPHIRES 


ping on gongs to prevent the tiger from breaking 
through the sides; if he does break through, they’ll 
blow shrill blasts on their conch shells. Away you 
go, Swinton!” 

And at an order from the mahout, their elephant 
trudged over to the point of honour, accompanied 
by the Banjara. In a few minutes his voice rose in 
the plaintive squeak of a buffalo, and in answer down 
the wind that rustled the feathered tops of the cane 
came a mild clamour of buffaloes, being driven, and 
men’s voices crying: 

“Dut, dut! Gar! Aoi-aoi!” 

The buffalo were in a huge fan, advancing in a 
crescent troupe slowly, so that the tiger, not sudden- 
ly overrun, would keep slipping along in front. 

Finnerty sat with his .450 Express across his knee, 
his eyes fixed on Gilfain, whose head he could just 
see above the bank of the nala, which was shallow 
where it struck the plain. 

The turmoil of buffalo noises and their drivers’ 
cries, drawing near, had increased in the cane. To 
the left, on one of the stop elephants, a native beat 
vigorously on his brass gong, followed by voices cry- 
ing from a stop elephant : “The tiger passes 1 ” Then 
a conch shell sent out its warning screech. 

“Gad! He’s broken through!” Finnerty growled. 

Prince Ananda, thinking the tiger was escaping, 
had the elephant driven forward to give Boelke a 
shot at the fleeing beast; but just as they reached 
the grass there was a coughing roar, a flashing tur- 
moil of brown and gold in the sun, and the elephant, 


THE THREE SAPPHIRES 


125 


terrified by the ferocious onslaught, whirled just as 
Boelke’s rifle barked. Straight back for the fringe 
of trees where Finnerty waited the elephant raced, 
the tiger clinging to his rump and striving to reach 
the howdah. 

Burra Moti knew the elephant was running away, 
and, at a command, shuffled forward with the intent 
of peeling the tiger from his perch with her trunk. 
But the fleeing animal, taking Moti for a new enemy, 
swerved to the right under the pipal, a long arm of 
which swept away the howdah, leaving Herr Boelke 
sprawled on the limb like a huge gorilla and yelling: 
“Ach, Gott! Hel-lp!” 

The tiger was carried away in the wreck, and now, 
thirty feet away, was crouched, his tail lashing from 
side to side. 

The girl had struggled to her feet and stood 
dazed, clinging to the wrecked howdah. The tiger 
was in a nasty mood ; he would charge the first move 
the girl made, Finnerty knew, and nothing but a mir- 
acle shot through the heart or brain could stop him 
in time to save her. Ordering the mahout to pick 
the girl up, he dropped to the ground. Holding his 
gun from the hip, both barrels cocked, he slipped 
past the girl to stand between her and the snarling 
brute, saying: “Keep cool! Keep your face to the 
tiger and step back; the elephant will pick you up.” 

His blue, fearless, Irish eye lay along the gun bar- 
rels, looking into the yellow eyes of the tiger as he 
spoke to the girl. Well he knew how straight hia 
shot must be, or that flat, sloping forehead, with its 


126 THE THREE SAPPHIRES 

thick plate of bone, would glance the bullet like ar- 
mour plate. 

A little cry of pain, the thud of a falling body, told 
him that the girl had gone down at the first step. 
For a fraction of a second his eye had wavered from 
the gun-sight, and the tiger, with a hoarse growl, 
rose in his catapult charge. Both barrels of Fin- 
nerty’s rifle blazed as he was swept backward by a 
push from Mod’s trunk, and the tiger landed upon 
two gleaming ivory swords that, with a twist of the 
mighty head, threw him twenty feet into the scrub. 

With a roar of disgruntled anger he bounded 
away toward cover in the cane, pursued by Gilfain, 
whose mahout had driven the elephant across at the 
sound of the tiger’s charge. 

Finnerty, telling the mahout to make Moti kneel, 
turned to the girl, who sat with a hand clasping an 
ankle, her face white with pain ; and as he lifted her 
like a child, like a child she whispered with breaking 
passion: “You, you! God — why should it be you 
again?” 

Then Finnerty commanded the mahout to retrieve 
Herr Boelke from his perch, pick up the prince, who 
had scuttled off some distance when he fell, and take 
them home. 

When the prince had been lifted to the howdah on 
a curl of Moti’s trunk, he waved his hand to the 
major, calling: “Devilish plucky, old chap; thanks 
for the elephant.” 

The elephant bearing Lord Victor and the captain 
returned, and the major tossed up a gold cigarette 


THE THREE SAPPHIRES 


m 


case he had found beside the broken howdah, saying: 
“You can give that to Prince Ananda; fancy he 
dropped it.” 

It looked familiar to Lord Victor. “Yes,” he 
said, “I’m sure it’s his. I know I’ve seen it at Ox- 
ford.” 

Plodding homeward in the solemn dejection of an 
unsuccessful hunt, even the ears of their elephant 
flapping disconsolately like sails of a windless boat, 
Finnerty suggested: “If you chaps would like it, 
we can swing around to your bungalow across the 
plain.” 

“Topping!” Lord Victor cried. “I’m so despond- 
ent I want a peg.” 

At the bungalow Finnerty alighted for a whisky 
and soda; and Gilfain, after reading a note his ser- 
vant had handed him, advised: 

“The prince wants me at the palace for dinner, 
and a confab over old Oxford days; the note came 
after we had gone to the hunt. Devilish fuzzy order, 
I call it — what! I can’t leave you to dine alone, old 
boy.” 

“The captain can come with me — the very thing!” 
Major Finnerty declared eagerly. 

The arrangement suited Swinton perfectly; it 
would give him an unplanned chance to talk with the 
major. And Gilfain would, of course, have to hon- 
our the prince’s invitation. 

It was a somewhat tame dinner for two ; though 
Ananda plied his lordship with wine of an alluring 


128 


THE THREE SAPPHIRES 


vintage, for he had a “hare to catch,” as the native 
proverb has it. He was most anxious to discover 
as much as possible about Captain Swinton’s mission. 
By a curious chance he had learned who Lord Vic- 
tor’s companion was — that he was Captain Herbert, 
a secret-service man. 

But Lord Victor was automatically unresponsive 
to the several subtle leads of his host for the simple 
reason that he didn’t even know that Captain Swin- 
ton was in reality Captain Herbert; and as to the 
mission — any mission — why, it was to shoot game, to 
keep out of England for a season. Prince Ananda 
was puzzled. Either Lord Victor was cleverer than 
he had been at Oxford, or he knew absolutely noth- 
ing. Indeed, the subject of Captain Swinton bored 
Gilfain; he saw enough of his companion in the day. 
He was wishing Ananda would say something about 
the mysterious lady. 

It was when the cigarettes were brought that he 
remembered the gold case. Drawing it from his 
pocket, he said: “Oh, devilish stupid! I forgot — 
brought your cigarette case.” 

But Ananda disclaimed the ownership. “That’s 
not mine,” he said. 

“Rather! Finnerty picked it up at the broken 
howdah. It’s the same one you had at Oxford, I 
think; I remember seeing it, anyway.” 

Prince Ananda took the gold case and examined 
it thoughtfully; then said: “By Jove! I didn’t know 
I’d lost it; thought it was in my shooting togs. 
Thanks, old chap.” 


THE THREE SAPPHIRES 


129 


Of course, as it had been found at the howdah, 
it must belong to the girl — the Herr Boelke smoked 
cheroots — though the prince did not remember hav- 
ing seen it with her. But he said nothing as to its 
true ownership as he slipped it into his pocket. 

Lord Victor, somewhat puzzled by Ananda’s de- 
nial of ownership and then the admittance of it, con- 
cluded that the prince was still upset by the cropper 
he had come off the elephant. 

But all down the hill, on his return, this curious 
incident kept recurring to him. He wasn’t a man 
to follow problems to a conclusion, however, and it 
simply hung in his mind as a fogging event. Just 
as he was falling asleep, wondering why the captain 
had not returned, it suddenly dawned upon him with 
awakening force that perhaps the gold case belonged 
to the girl. Of course it did, he decided. The prince 
had treated the case as a stranger; his face had 
shown that he did not recognise it. And yet Gilfain 
had seen it in England, as he thought, in the prince’s 
possession. He fell asleep, unequal to the task of 
wallowing through such a morass of mystery. 


Chapter XI 


A FTER Finnerty and Swinton left Gilfain in 
the evening, the major said: “If you don’t 
mind, we’ll stick to this elephant and ride on 
to the keddah, where I’ll take the bell off Moti; I 
won’t take a chance of having the sapphire stolen 
by leaving it there all night. I am worrying now 
over letting Prince Ananda have Moti — I forgot all 
about the stone, really.” 

“Worked beautifully to-day, didn’t it?” Swinton 
commented. 

“Yes. I fancy it saved the girl’s life, at least; for 
if I’d not had Moti I’d have lost out on the mix-up 
with Stripes. I’ll get a metal clapper to-morrow, but 
I doubt its answering; it will clang, and the sapphire 
has a clinking note like ice in a glass. And, while an 
elephant hasn’t very good eyesight, he’s got an ab- 
normally acute sense of hearing. Moti would twig 
the slightest variation in the tone of that bell that 
she’s probably worn for a hundred years or more — 
maybe a thousand, for all I know. There’s a belief 
among the natives that a large elephant has been 
wandering around northern India for a thousand 
years; it is called the ‘Khaki Hethi ’ — brown ele- 
phant.” 

Swinton looked curiously at the major. “Do you 
believe that?” 


130 


THE THREE SAPPHIRES 


131 


“Each year in this wonderland I believe more; 
that is, I accept more without looking for proofs. 
It is the easiest way. Yes,” he added, in a reflective 
way, “I’ll have trouble with Moti, I’m afraid; ele- 
phants are the most suspicious creatures on earth, 
and she is particularly distrustful.” 

“Don’t bother about the sapphire,” Swinton ob- 
jected. 

“Oh, yes, I will. I’ve got to take off the bell, any- 
way, to find some substitute. If I don’t, somebody’ll 
poison Moti if they can’t get the sapphire any other 
way.” 

At the keddah the two dismounted and walked 
over to where Moti was under her tamarind tree. 
Swinton became aware of the extraordinary affec- 
tion the big creature had for Finnerty. She fondled 
his cheek with the fingers of her trunk, and put it 
over his shoulder, giving utterance to little guttural 
chuckles of satisfaction, as though she were saying: 
“We fooled the tiger, didn’t we?” 

Finnerty called to a native to bring him some ghie 
cakes — little white cookies of rice flour and honey 
that had been cooked in boiling ghie > butter made 
from buffalo’s milk — and when they were brought he 
gave the delighted elephant one. She smacked her 
lips and winked at Finnerty — at least to Swinton her 
actions were thus. 

In obedience to the mahout she knelt down; but 
as Finnerty unlaced the leather band that held the 
bell she cocked her ears apprehensively and waved 
her big head back and forth in nervous rhythm. 


132 


THE THREE SAPPHIRES 


Patting her forehead, Finnerty gave Moti the bell, 
and she clanged it in expostulation. Then he took 
it away, giving her a ghie cake. Several times he 
repeated this, retaining the bell longer each time, and 
always talking to her in his soft, rich voice. 

Finally, telling the mahout to call him if Moti 
gave trouble, he said: “We can walk to the bunga- 
low from here; it isn’t far, captain.” 

After dinner, as they sat on the verandah, Fin- 
nerty’s bearer appeared, and, prefaced by a prayer- 
ful salaam, said: “Huzoor, my mother is sick, and 
your slave asks that he may stay with her to-night. 
The sahib’s bed is all prepared, and in the morning 
I will bring the tea and toast.” 

“All right,” the major said laconically; and as 
the bearer went on his mission of mercy he added: 
“Glad he’s gone. I’ve a queer feeling of distrust 
of that chap, though he’s a good boy. He never 
took his eye off that bell till it was locked up in my 
box. The mahout told me at the keddah that Rajah 
Ananda was particularly pleased with Moti; had a 
look at the bell and petted her when they got to 
the palace.” Finnerty laughed, but Swanton cursed 
softly. 

“That means,” he said, “that we’ve got to look 
out.” 

“Yes; can’t use the sapphire on Moti again.” 

Finnerty rose, stretched his bulk, travelled to both 
ends of the verandah, and looked about. 

Swinton was struck by the extraordinary quiet of 
the big man’s movements. He walked on the balls 


THE THREE SAPPHIRES 


133 


of his feet — the athlete’s tread — with the graceful 
strength of a tiger. Coming back, he turned with 
catlike quickness and slipped into the bungalow, re- 
turning presently, drawing his chair close to Swinton 
as he sat down. 

“You remember my tussle with the Punjabi 
wrestler?” 

Swinton laughed. “Rather!” 

“It wasn’t a Punjabi — a European.” 

The captain gasped his astonishment. 

“One of Boelke’s imported Huns.” Finnerty gave 
a dry chuckle. “Ananda isn’t the only man that can 
get information. I knew there was a Prussian 
wrestler here, and that he was keeping fit for a bout 
with somebody; I had a suspicion that somebody was 
myself. You see” — and the major crossed his long 
legs — “in spite of all our talk about moral force in 
governing, physical superiority is what always ap- 
peals to the governed — Ananda knows that deuced 
well. Now, hereabouts I have quite an influence 
over the natives, because, while I give them a little 
more than justice in any dispute, I can put their best 
man on his back.” 

“And Ananda, not being able to have you re- 
moved, wanted to shatter your prestige?” 

“He thought that if I were humiliated in being 
beaten by a supposed native I’d ask to be trans- 
ferred.” 

“Then it was all a plot, the other bout furnishing 
Boelke a chance to taunt you?” 

“Yes, and clever. That final scene in the dove 


m 


THE THREE SAPPHIRES 


song’ doesn’t belong there at all — I mean where the 
lover is resuscitated to challenge the gods to com- 
bat; that emanated in Ananda’s brain; and when I 
saw the second wrestler come out painted black to 
represent Bhairava, I was convinced there was devil- 
try afloat and that it was the Hun.” 

Swinton laughed. “He got a surprise, major, 
though he was a dirty fighter. I saw the toe hold, 
but didn’t see what happened to him.” 

“I gave him a paralysing something I had learned 
from a Jap in Calcutta. If you stand up, I’ll show 
you.” 

Finnerty clutched the captain’s hip, and, with the 
tip of a finger, gave a quick pressure on a nerve 
in the “crest of the ilium” bone. The effect was ex- 
traordinary; a dulling numbness shot with galvanic 
force to the base of Swinton’s skull — needles pene- 
trated his stomach. 

“Marvellous!” the captain gasped, as he almost 
collapsed back into his chair. 

The major smiled. “That was a new one on my 
Hun friend, for I cracked him there with the knuckles 
— almost brought the bone away.” 

“How many Huns * has Boelke got?” Swinton 
asked. 

“I don’t know — three or four, and they’re all 
service men; one can tell the walk of a Prussian, 
soldier or officer. Nominally, they are archaeologi- 
cal men. Our paternal government actually supplied 
the prince with Doctor Boelke, for he was in govern- 


THE THREE SAPPHIRES 135 

ment service in Madras Presidency, exploring old 
ruins.” 

“The prince is subtle.” 

“He is. All this temple row is his. This Dhar- 
ama who wants to put the brass Buddha in is really 
a half-caste — a tool of the prince’s. Ananda’s plan 
is so full of mystery, neither I nor any one else can 
get head or tail of it. He doesn’t appear in these 
rows, therefore the Buddhists think he is not a big- 
oted Hindu. So do the Mussulmans ; and no doubt he 
will tell these two sects that I, as the British raj 
representative, fought against them. I think he’s 
trying to get these two fighting peoples, the Mussul- 
mans and the Nepalese, with him against the British 
if he comes out as a liberator. He’s planning a prop- 
aganda so big that these three sects will bury their 
differences under a leader who does not stand for 
Brahmanism alone. I believe he’s almost insane on 
this idea that he can unite the natives, Mussulmans, 
Hindus, and Buddhists, against the British raj. He 
bids for the Mussulman support by removing him- 
self from that nest of Brahmanism, the maharajah’s 
palace in the old fort, and secretly letting it be un- 
derstood the Brahman’s sway, with their tithe of a 
sixth of Darpore revenue, will cease when he sits on 
the guddi. There is an Asoka pillar in the Place of 
Roses that doesn’t belong there; he stole it from a 
temple, I fancy. On its polished sides is a line of 
weathering showing that it was buried deeper than 
it is now for centuries. He put it there to show the 
Buddhists that his palace is in a sacred place — the 


IS 6 


THE THREE SAPPHIRES 

true spot where Buddha received knowledge. He 
knows that his own people will stick to his rule — 
they can’t do anything else — and he hopes to win 
the Buddhists by a crazy pose that he is the new 
Buddha — a war Buddha, ordained to the task of 
giving them liberty.” 

“With German help?” 

“Yes, if the rumours of war between Germany 
and Britain come true and all Europe flames into a 
blaze, you’ll see Ananda strike.” 

“Gad ! If we could only nip him — find him with 
the guns!” 

“That’s what he’s afraid of; that’s why he wants 
to get rid of me.” 

“I have a feeling that he wishes I had not come,” 
Swinton said. “I fancy he suspects me. It’s all mys- 
tery and suspicion. He’ll hear about the Buddhists’ 
veneration for Burra Moti and you’ll have her stolen 
next.” 

“Not without the sapphire in the bell — I won’t put 
it in again. And I warn you, captain, that you’ll 
stand a good chance of getting a Thug’s towel about 
your neck, for they’ll know you have one of the 
sapphires.” 

“Yes; the servants have it on their tongues now 
— they’ve been spying on us, I know.” 

“That reminds me !” Finnerty rose, went to his 
room, opened his steel box, turned up the low-burn- 
ing lamp, and unlaced the sapphire from the bell. 
Raising his head, he caught a glint of a shadowy 
something on the window; it was a shift of light, 


137 


THE three sapphires 

as though a face had been suddenly withdrawn. 

“Damn it!” the major growled, locking the box. 
“Either somebody is peering over my shoulder all 
the time or this mystery is getting on to my nerves.” 

He went along to the verandah, and, putting the 
sapphire into Swinton’s palm, hiding its transfer- 
ence with his own hand, said: “Slip that quietly into 
your pocket, and when you get home hide it.” 

“I don’t value it much,” Swinton answered. 

With an uncertain laugh, Finnerty declared: “I’d 
throw it in the sea. Like the baboo, I think it’s an 
evil god. I mean, it will be if Ananda gets the three 
sapphires together ; he’ll play up their miracle power ; 
they’ll be worth fifty thousand sepoys to him.” 

They smoked in silence till Swinton broke it: “I 
found a little notebook the murderer of Perreira 
dropped that evidently belonged to a British officer, 
though leaves had been torn out here and there for 
the purpose of destroying his identity. The man 
himself didn’t do this, for there were entries in a 
different hand at the pages these leaves had been 
torn from — sort of memos, bearing on the destroyed 
matter.” 

“If the identity were destroyed, captain, how do 
you know an officer owned it?” 

“For one thing, he had used an army code, though 
changed so that I could only make out bits of it; 
and in two or three places the other has written the 
word ‘captain.’ One entry in code that I’ve partly 
worked out is significant: ‘Darpore, March.’ And 
that entry, I gather from other words surrounding 


188 


THE THREE SAPPHIRES 

it, was written in England. The second handwrit- 
ing wasn’t Perreira’s; I have his on that envelope 
he addressed to me. The latter entries are in a 
woman’s hand.” 

Strangely there was no comment from Finnerty. 
He had pulled the cheroot box toward him and was 
lighting a fresh smoke. 

“What do you really know about the Boelke girl, 
major?” the captain asked pointedly, his blue-col- 
oured wax disks of eyes fixed in their placid, opaque 
way on Finnerty, who, throwing away the match he 
had held interminably to his cheroot, turned to an- 
swer: “She popped into Darpore one day, and I 
don’t think even Doctor Boelke, who is supposed to 
be her uncle, expected her. You know India, cap- 
tain — nothing that pertains to the sahibs can be kept 
quiet — and I hadn’t heard a word of her coming. 
Boelke gave out that she had been living in Calcutta 
while he was up here, but I don’t believe that; I think 
she came straight from Europe. I probably would 
not have met the girl — Marie is her name— but for 
an accident. Up on an elephant path that leads to 
an elephant highway, a great, broad trail, we have 
elephant traps — pits ten feet deep, covered over with 
bamboos, leaves, and earth that completely hide 
their presence. One day I was riding along this trail, 
inspecting, when I heard, just beyond a sharp turn 
in the path, a devil of a row, and, driving my mount 
forward, was just in time to throw myself off, grab 
that grey stallion by the nostrils, and choke him to a 
standstill. He had put a hoof through a pit cover- 


THE THREE SAPPHIRES 


139 


ing and gone to his knees, the sudden lurch throwing 
the girl over his head; and there she was, her foot 
caught in a stirrup, being dragged in a circle by the 
crazed beast, for she was gamely hanging onto the 
rein.” 

“She’d have been trampled to death only for you. 
And to-day you saved her life again.” 

The major gave a dry laugh. “I think she was in 
a temper over it, too.” 

“What’s this station gossip about Ananda’s in- 
tentions?” 

“The girl doesn’t seem like that; to me she’s the 
greatest mystery in all this fogged thing. She speaks 
just like an English girl.” 

“Perhaps she’s one of Ananda’s London flames, 
and the relationship with Boelke is only claimed in a 
chaperoning sense. He couldn’t marry her, having 
a princess now.” 

“Rajahs arrange their domestic matters to suit 
themselves. Much can be done with a pinch of 
datura, or a little cobra venom collected in a piece 
of raw meat that has been put with a cobra in a pot 
that sits over a slow fire. But if Ananda tries that 

game You saw his brother-in-law, Darna 

Singh?” 

Swinton nodded. “A Rajput!” 

“Yes. Well, Darna Singh would stick a knife in 
the prince, knowing that he would become regent till 
Ananda’s little son came of age; that is, of course, 
after the maharajah had been settled, for in spite of 
all his magnificent appearance he’s just a shell — the 


140 THE THREE SAPPHIRES 

usual thing, brandy in champagne and all the rest 
of it.” 

The trembling whistle of a small owl coming from 
behind the bungalow caused Finnerty to turn his 
head and listen intently. He rose and slipped along 
the wall to the end rail, where he stood silently for 
two minutes. Then he dropped over the rail and 
came back to Swinton from the other end, having 
circled the bungalow. 

“An owl, wasn’t it?” the captain asked. 

“No; it was the call of an owl badly done by a 
native. There’s some game on.” 

As he ceased speaking, there came floating up the 
road from a mango thicket the dreary, monotonous 
“tonk, tonk, tonk, tonk!” of the little, green-coated 
coppersmith bird. It sounded as if some one tapped 
on a hollow pipe. 

“What about that ? Is that a bird ?” Swinton whis- 
pered. 

“A two-legged bird.” They both laughed softly. 
“I mean a native. If it had been a coppersmith 
bird, he wouldn’t have stopped at four notes; he’d 
have kept it up. That fellow is tapping off on a piece 
of metal an answer to the owl.” 

“Here comes my tom-tom,” Swinton said, as a 
groom, leading a horse in the shafts of a dogcart, 
appeared, coming up the road. Rising, he touched 
Finnerty on the arm and went into the bungalow, 
where, taking the sapphire from his pocket, he said : 
“I wish you’d put this in your box for to-night; I’ve 



“great as was the elephant’s strength, she could not break 
THE python’s DEADLY CLASP.” 


See page 253 

















































































m 






















THE THREE SAPPHIRES Hi 

got a curious, flabby streak of depression — as if Fd 
lose the thing.’’ 

“Have a peg — there’s the Scotch on the tabl/ — 
while I put it away,” and the major darted into his 
room. 

“That’s not my horse; I’ve been driving a chest- 
nut,” Swinton exclaimed, when they stood beside a 
cow-hocked, hog-maned bay whose eyes showed an 
evil spread of white. 

“Yes, sahib; other pony going lame,” the groom 
explained. 

“One of those devilish, fiddle-headed Cabul ponies 
— less brains than a coolie,” Finnerty growled. 
“You’ll have to watch him going downhill, or he’ll 
put you over the kud; I never saw one yet that 
wouldn’t shy at a shadow.” He stood watching the 
scuttling first rush of the horse, the groom madly 
scrambling to the back seat, till they had vanished 
around a corner. 

The watchman, having heard his master’s guest de- 
part, now came from the servants’ quarters to place 
his charpoy beside the door for his nightly sleep. 
Throwing away his cheroot and taking a loaded 
malacca cane from a rack, Finnerty said: “Gutra, 
there are rogues about; sit you in my room while 
I make a search.” 

Reaching the mango thicket, he stood behind a 
tree from where his eye could command the moon- 
lighted compound that surrounded the bungalow. At 
that instant from down the road floated up the call 
of a voice; there was a crash, and the high-pitched 


il42 THE THREE SAPPHIRES 

scream of a horse in terror. Finnerty was off ; round- 
ing a turn, he came head on into a fleeing syce, who 
was knocked flat, to lie there, crying: “Oh, my lord, 
the sahib is eaten by a tiger !” 

Finnerty grabbed the native and yanked him to his 
feet. “Stop the lies! Tell me what’s happened! 
Where is the sahib?” 

“Have mercy on me, a poor man, huzoor; the 
tiger sprang from the jungle and took the sahib in 
his mouth like a leg of a chicken and went back into 
the jungle. I tride to frighten the tiger away by 
beating him with my hands; then I am running to 
tell you, my lord.” 

But Finnerty was speeding on before the man had 
finished. 

Where the road swept sharply around the edge 
of a cliff, Finnerty almost stepped on Swinton, lying 
quite still beside a white boulder on the road. With 
a groan, he knelt beside the captain, apprehension 
numbing his brain; but the latter’s heart was beating 
with the even pulsation of a perfect motor. He 
tipped back an eyelid; the dull blue eyes were as if 
their owner slept. He ran his fingers along the 
scalp, and just behind an ear found a soft, puffy 
lump, but no blood. 

“Good old chap! You’ve just got a concussion 
— that’s all,” welled in relief from the Irishman. 

Some chafing of the hands, a little pumping of the 
lungs by lifting the torso gently up and down, and, 
with preliminary, spasmodic jerks, Swinton sat up, 
rubbed his eyes, looked at Finnerty, and asked: 


THE THREE SAPPHIRES 


1 43 


“What time is it? I — I’ve been asleep ” Then, 

memory coming faster than his hesitating words, he 
rose to his feet, saying: “The pony and cart went 
over the kud.” 

“That Cabuli donkey thought the boulder a 
crouching wolf and shied, eh ? The syce said a tiger 
had eaten you.” 

“He never saw the chita. Back around the turn 
I felt the dogcart tip up and knew the syce had 
jumped down, as I thought, to run ahead to see that 
the road was clear at this narrow turn. When I saw 
the boulder I looked around for him to take the 
pony’s head, but he had vanished. As I walked the 
Cabuli up to the boulder, he suddenly went crazy 
with fright, and at that instant, with a snarling rasp, 
a chita shot from the bank just above our heads 
there, and, lighting on my pony’s back, carried him 
over, the sudden whirl of the cart pitching me on 
my head.” 

“And you went out?” 

“No, I didn’t; not just then. I staggered to my 
feet — I remember that distinctly — and something hit 
me. That time I did go out.” 

“Good heavens — a plant ! The syce, knowing what 
was going to happen, funked it and bolted — feared 
the leopard might make a mistake in his man.” 

“Looks like it.” 

“Then, as you didn’t go over the bank, somebody 
tapped you from behind, thinking you had the sap- 
phire in your pocket. We’ll go back to the bunga- 
low and come out in the morning and have a look.” 


THE THREE SAPPHIRES 


144 

As they tramped along, Finnerty remarked: “You 
said a hunting chita. There are none of them in 
these jungles; it must have been a leopard.” 

“No; I could see quite distinctly in the moonlight 
his upstanding, feathered ears and his long, lank 
body. I had a year at Jhodpore, and went out after 
antelope many a time with a hunting chita chained 
on a cart till we got within striking distance.” 

“Gad! That’s why the brute took the pony for 
it — force of habit. And they sent that fool Cabuli 
— they knew he’d go crazy and topple over the bank. 
The stone was placed in the road, too.” 

As they went up on the verandah, Finnerty turned 
sharply, and, putting his hand on Swinton’s arm, said : 
“Gad, man! That’s why Ananda asked Lord Vic- 
tor to dinner and left you out of it; he knew you’d 
dine with me here. They either meant to put you 
out of action or got to know you owned the sap- 
phire that was used on Moti to-day and hoped to 
get it off your body.” 

“Looks rather fishy, I must say. The prince 
would not take a chance on an inquiry over the death 
of an officer unless, as in this case, it could not be 
taken for anything but an accident.” 

“The chita was his; he’s got a couple in his zoo 
— well-trained hunting chitas the Nawab of Chackla 
gave him — and there are no wild ones about. It was 
a lucky touch of superstition that prompted you to 
have me put the sapphire back in my box; I saw a 
face at my window when I took it from the bell to 


THE THREE SAPPHIRES 


145 


give you. But we sold them out. How’s your 
head?” 

“It aches. Think I’d like to turn in, if you’ve 
got a charpoy for me.” 

Finnerty wakened from a sound sleep with a sense 
of alarm in his mind, drowsily associating this with 
the sequel of the frightened horse; then, coming 
wider awake, he realised that he was in bed and 
there was something unusual in the room. He was 
facing the wall, and a slight noise came over his 
shoulder from the table on which was his cash box. 
A mouse, a snake, even a lizard, of which there were 
plenty in the bungalow, would make as much noise. 
Turning his head and body with a caution bred of 
the solemn night hour, his bed creaked as the weight 
of his big frame changed. By the table there was 
the distinct click of something against tin, followed 
by the swish of a body moving swiftly toward the 
door. Finnerty sprang from the bed with a cry of 
“Thief! Thief!” meant to arouse the watchman. 
Just ahead of him, through the living room, a man 
fled, and out onto the verandah. Following, with a 
rush like a bull in the night gloom, Finnerty’s foot 
caught in the watchman’s charpoy, which had been 
pulled across the door, and he came down, the force 
of his catapult fall carrying him to the steps, where 
his outstretched hand was cut by broken glass. The 
thief having placed the charpoy where it was, had 
taken it in his stride, vaulted the verandah rail, 
avoiding the steps, whipped around the corner of the 
bungalow, and disappeared. 


146 


THE THREE SAPPHIRES 


Scrambling to his feet, Finnerty was just in time 
to throw his arms around Swinton and bring him to 
an expostulating standstill. 

“Glass!” Finnerty panted. “This way!” He 
darted to the wall of the bungalow, wrenched down 
two hog spears that were crossed below a boar’s 
head, and, handing one to Captain Swinton, sprang 
over the end rail of the verandah, followed by the 
latter. They were just in time to see the brown 
figure of an all but naked native flitting like a shadow 
in the moonlight through a narrow gateway in the 
compound wall. From the jungle beyond the other 
wall came the clamorous voice of a native, calling 
for help ; but Finnerty swung toward the gate, say- 
ing: “That’s a decoy call to save the thief. He’s 
gone this way.” 

As the two men, racing, passed from the com- 
pound, they swung into a native jungle path that led 
off toward the hills. There was little sense in their 
pursuit; it was purely the fighting instinct — Finnerty’s 
Irish was up. A hundred yards along the path, 
as they raced through a growth of bamboos, some- 
thing happened that by the merest chance did not 
spill one of their lives. Finnerty overshot a noose 
that was pegged out on the path, but Swinton’s foot 
went into it, tipping free a green bamboo, four inches 
thick, that swept the path waist-high, catching Fin- 
nerty before it had gained momentum, his retarding 
bulk saving the captain from a broken spine. As it 
was, he, too, was swept off his feet. 

Picking himself up, the major said: “If I had put 


THE THREE SAPPHIRES 


147 


my foot in that noose I’d been cut in two. It’s the 
old hillman’s tiger trap — only there’s no spear fas- 
tened to the bamboo. We can go back now; the 
thief is pretty well on his way to Nepal.” 

A cry of terror came from up the path, followed 
by silence. 

“Something has happened the thief,” Finnerty 
said. “Come on, captain!” 

Again they hurried along, but warily now. Where 
a wax-leafed wild mango blanked the moonlight from 
their path, Finnerty’s foot caught in a soft something 
that, as it rolled from the thrust, gleamed white. He 
sprang to one side; it was a blooded body — either 
a big snake or a man. Thus does the mind of a man 
of the open work with quick certainty. 

The wind shifted a long limb of the mango and 
a moon shaft fell upon the face of Baboo Lall Mo- 
hun Dass. Beside him, sprawled face down, the 
body of a native, naked but for a loin cloth. Cau- 
tiously Finnerty touched this with his spear. There 
was no movement; even the baboo lay as one dead. 
The major’s spearhead clicked against something on 
the native’s back, and, reaching down, he found the 
handle of a knife, its blade driven to the hilt. 

Finnerty held the knife in the moonlight toward 
Swinton, saying: “It’s the ‘Happy Despatch,’ a little 
knife the Nepal hillmen carry for the last thrust — 
generally for themselves when they’re cornered.” 

“It has a jade handle,” Swinton added. “It’s an 
exact duplicate of the knife they found in Akka’s 
back at the bottom of the ravine in Simla.” 


148 


THE THREE SAPPHIRES 


“This is the thief we’ve chased,” Finnerty de- 
clared, as he turned the body over; “but the sap- 
phire is not in his loin cloth.” 

Swinton was kneeling beside Baboo Dass. “This 
chap is not dead,” he said; “he’s had a blow on the 
head.” 

“Search him for the sapphire,” Finnerty called 
from where he was examining a curious network of 
vines plaited through some overhanging bamboos. 
This formed a perfect cul-de-sac into which perhaps 
the thief had run and then been stabbed by some 
one in waiting. 

“It isn’t on the baboo,” Swinton announced, “and 
he’s coming to. I fancy the man that left the knife 
sticking in the first thief is thief number two; must 
be a kind of religious quid pro quo , this exchange of 
a jade-handled knife for the sapphire.” 

Baboo Dass now sat up; and, returning conscious- 
ness picturing the forms of Swinton and Finnerty, 
remembrance brought back the assault, and he yelled 
in terror, crying: “Spare me — spare my life! Take 
the sapphire!” 

“Don’t be frightened, baboo,” Swinton soothed. 
“The man who struck you is gone.” 

Realising who his rescuers were, Baboo Dass 
gave way to tears of relief, and in this momentary 
abstraction framed an alibi. “Kind masters,” he said 
presently, “I am coming by the path to your bunga- 
low for purpose of beseeching favour, and am hear- 
ing too much strife — loud cry of ‘Thief!’ also pro- 
fane expostulation in Hindustani word of hell. Here 


THE THREE SAPPHIRES 


149 


two men is fight, and I am foolish fellow to take up 
arms for peace. Oh, my master, one villain is smote 
me and I swoon.” 

“You’re a fine liar, baboo,” Finnerty declared 
crisply. 

“No, master, not ” 

“Shut up ! I mean, tell me why you sent this thief, 
who is dead, to steal the sapphire?” 

“Not inciting to theft, sar; this thief is himself 
steal the sapphire.” 

“How do you know he stole a sapphire?” Swinton 
asked quietly. 

Baboo Dass gasped. Perhaps his mind was still 
rather confused from the blow — he had been trapped 
so easily. 

“Perhaps there was no other,” Finnerty suggested 
seductively. “I believe you murdered this man, 
baboo; I fear you’ll swing for it.” 

This was too much. “Oh, my master,” he pleaded, 
“do not take action in the courts against me for 
felonious assault or otherwise. I, too, am victim of 
assault and battery when this poor mans is slain. I 
will tell, sars, why I have arrange to take back my 
sapphire in this manner.” 

“Your sapphire?” Finnerty questioned. 

“Yes, sar — the sapphire that I am suffer the head 
shave for. Good authority is tell me it is in the bell 
on the elephant when Rajah Ananda is go to the 
palace.” 

“Phe-e-ew !” Finnerty whistled. “I see! Mister 


150 THE THREE SAPPHIRES 

Rajah, eh? Did he tell you that I had the sapphire 
you lost?” 

“Please, sar, I am poor man; let the good author- 
ity be incognito.” 

“Why didn’t you come and ask for the sapphire?” 
Finnerty questioned. 

“Master, if I come and say you have the sap- 
phire has been looted from me with head shave, that 
is not polite — you are shove me with foot from ve- 
randah because of accusation.” 

“Listen, baboo!” the major said, not unkindly. 
“Prince Ananda has duped you. He made you be- 
lieve that I had your sapphire, which is a lie, be- 
cause it was another. Then he persuaded you to 
hire a thief to steal it ” 

“Not persuading, sahib; he make threats. I will 
lose my place with Hamilton Company, also the 
Marwari woman who plotted to me the head shave 
is murdered, and I am fearful of knife.” 

“A fine mess of things, now, major,” Swinton ob- 
served. “Looks to me as if that woman stole Baboo 
Dass’ sapphire for the priests; then Ananda had 
her murdered, recovered the jewel, and put our 
friend, here, up to stealing this last one; that would 
give him the three.” 

“I think you’re right, captain.” Finnerty turned 
to the baboo. “You bribed this thief to steal the 
stone out of my box, some servant having told you 
it was there, and you waited on the trail here for 
him.” 

Finnerty had forgotten about the bamboo trap; 


THE THREE SAPPHIRES 


151 


now it came to his memory with angering force. 
“You black hound !” he stormed. “You were a party 
to putting up that bamboo trap that might have 
killed us!” 

But the baboo denied all knowledge of ways and 
means; the thief had represented himself as a man 
quite capable of arranging all details — all Baboo 
Dass was to do was hand over twenty rupees when 
the thief delivered the sapphire on the jungle path. 
At any rate, he was now very dead and could not 
dispute this story. 

“Sahib, I am too much afraid; this evil jewel is 
bring too much trouble. I will go back to Calcutta. 
Please, sar, forgive because I am too polite to make 
demand for the sapphire.” 

Finnerty pondered for a minute. There was ab- 
solutely nothing further to do in the matter. No 
doubt a temple man had got Swinton’s sapphire now 
and they probably would never see it again. 

He turned to the native. “I think you had bet- 
ter go away, baboo; Darpore is not a healthy place 
for men who cross our gentle friend up on the hill.” 

“Thank you, kind gentlemans. Please, if I can 
saunter to the road with the sahibs because of jungle 
terrors.” 

Eager in pursuit, the men had run blithely over 
the ground in their bare feet; now they hobbled 
back, discussing the extraordinarily complete plans 
the thief had made beforehand. The broken glass 
on the step was an old dodge, but the utilisation of a 
tiger trap to kill a pursuer was a new one. 


152 


THE THREE SAPPHIRES 


While they had been away, the servant had found 
Gutra, securely bound and gagged, lying in the com- 
pound, where he had been carried. He had been 
wakened, he declared, by the thrusting of a cloth into 
his mouth, but was unable to give an alarm. 

As Finnerty gazed ruefully into his empty box, 
he said: “I knew the thief was after the sapphire; 
that’s why I raced to get him. Too devilish bad, 
captain !” 

“I don’t understand why he took a chance of open- 
ing the box here ; the usual way is to take it to the 
jungle and rifle it there,” Swinton said. 

“Oh, I was clever,” Finnerty laughed. “See, I 
put four screw nails through the bottom of the box 
into this heavy table, knowing their ways, and some- 
body who knew all about that and had opportunity 
to fit a key did the job, or helped. The watchman 
hadn’t anything to do with it. They’re all thieves, 
but they won’t steal from their own masters or vil- 
lage.” 

Finnerty had the broken glass that littered the 
steps brought in, saying, as he picked out a gold- 
draped bottle neck: “A man is known by the bottle 
he drinks from. The villagers don’t drink cham- 
pagne to any large extent, and there are several 
pieces of this caste. Here’s half a bottle that once 
held Exshaw’s Best Brandy, such as rajahs put in a 
glass of champagne to give it nip. Here’s a piece of 
a soda-water bottle stamped ‘Thompson, Calcutta,’ 
and everybody in Darpore but Ananda drinks up- 
country stuff.” 


THE THREE SAPPHIRES 153 

“Which means,” Swinton summed up, “that the 
glass is from Ananda’s place — he outfitted the thief.” 

Finnerty replaced the glass in the basket, putting 
it under the table; then, as he faced about, he saw 
that Swinton, leaning back against the pillow, was 
sound asleep. He slipped into a warm dressing- 
gown, turned out the light, left the room noiselessly, 
and curled up in an armchair on the verandah, mut- 
tering: “It must be near morning; it would be a sin 
to disturb him.” 


Chapter XII 


F INNERTY had slept an hour when he was 
wakened by the raucous voice of a peacock 
greeting dawn with his unpleasant call from 
high up in the sal forest. A cold grey pallor was 
creeping into the eastern sky as the major, still feel- 
ing the holding lethargy of the disturbed night, closed 
his eyes for a little more of oblivion. But Life, 
clamorous, vociferous, peopling the hills, the trees, 
the plain, sent forth its myriad acclaim, as a warm- 
ing flush swept with eager haste up the vaulted dome, 
flung from a molten ball that topped the forest line 
with amazing speed. 

A flock of parrakeets swooped like swallows 
through the air with high-pitched cries; from the 
feathered foliage of a tamarind came the monoto- 
nous drool, “Ko-el — ko-el — ko-el — ke-e-e-e-el !” of 
the koel bird, harbinger of the “hot spell a crow, 
nesting in a banyan, rose from her eggs, and, with a 
frightened cry, fled through the air as a hawk cuckoo 
swooped with shrill whistle as if to strike. The 
cuckoo, dumping from the nest a couple of the crow’s 
white eggs, settled down to deposit her own embryo 
chick. From the kennels came the joyous bark of 
Rampore hounds, and from a native village filtered 
up the yapping cries of pariah dogs. 

i54 


THE THREE SAPPHIRES 


155 


Far up the road that wound past the bungalow 
sounded the squealing skirl of wooden axles in 
wooden wheels, and the cries of the bullock driver, 
u Dut , dat y duty D owlet! Duty dut — chelao Rajah!” 
followed by the curious noise that the driver made 
with his lips while he twisted the tails of his bul- 
locks to urge them on. 

Finnerty thought of the stone on the road, and, 
passing into the bungalow, wakened Swinton. 
“Sorry, old boy, but we’d better have a look at that 
stone — there are carts coming down the hill.” 

“Bless me! Almost dropped off to sleep, I’m 
afraid!” and the captain sat up. 

When they arrived at the scene of Swinton’s ad- 
venture, Finnerty, peering over the embankment, 
said: “The dogcart is hung up in a tree halfway 
down. I expect you’ll find that chita at the bottom, 
kicked to death by the Cabuli.” 

Swinton, indicating an abrasion on the boulder 
that might have been left by the iron tire of a wheel, 
said: “My cart didn’t strike this, and there are no 
other iron-wheel marks on the road; just part of this 
beastly plot — to be used as evidence that the stone 
put me over the bank.” 

“They even rolled the boulder down to leave an 
accidental trail. There’s not a footprint of a native, 
though. Hello, by Jove!” Finnerty was examining 
two bamboos growing from the bank above the road. 
“See that?” and his finger lay on an encircling mark 
where a strap had worn a smooth little gutter in the 
bamboo shell two feet from the ground. Both bam- 


156 THE THREE SAPPHIRES 

boos, standing four feet apart, showed this line of 
friction. “Here’s where they held the chita in leash, 
and, when you arrived, took off his hood and slipped 
the straps. We’ll just roll that boulder off the road 
and go back to breakfast.” 

“Oh, Lord!” the major exclaimed, as, midway 
of their breakfast, there came the angry trumpeting 
of an elephant. “That’s Moti, and she wants her 
bell. She’s an ugly devil when she starts ; but, while 
I don’t mind losing some sleep, I must eat.” 

“The devil of it is that all this circumstantial evi- 
dence we’re gathering isn’t worth a rap so far as the 
real issue is concerned,” the captain said from the 
depths of a brown study. 

“I understand,” Finnerty answered. “It proves 
who is trying to get rid of us, but the government 
is not interested in our private affairs — it wants to 
check Ananda’s state intrigues.” 

“And also we won’t mention any of these things 
to our young friend whom I hear outside,” Swinton 
added, as the voice of Lord Victor superseded the 
beat of hoofs on the road. 

As he swung into the breakfast room, Gilfain ex- 
plained cheerily: “Thought I’d ride around this way 
to see what had happened; my bearer heard in the 
bazaar Swinton had been eaten by a tiger — but you 
weren’t, old top, were you?” 

“My dogcart went wrong,” Swinton answered, “so 
I stayed with the major.” 

“What made me think something might have hap- 
pened was that the bally forest here is pretty well 


THE THREE SAPPHIRES 


157 

impregnated with leopards and things — one of An- 
anda’s hunting chitas escaped last evening and he was 
worrying about it at dinner; says he’s a treacherous 
brute, has turned sour on his work, and is as liable 
to spring on a man as on a pronghorn.” 

“Was the prince anxious about me in particular?” 
the captain asked innocently. 

“Oh, no ; he didn’t say anything, at least.” 

Finnerty sprang to his feet as a big gong boomed 
a tattoo over at the keddah. “Trouble!” he ejacu- 
lated. “Elephant on the rampage — likely Moti.” 

The bungalow buzzed like a hive of disturbed bees. 
A bearer ‘came with Finnerty’s helmet and a leather 
belt in which hung a .45 Webley revolver; a saddled 
horse swung around the bungalow, led by a running 
syce. 

The major turned to Swinton. “Like to go?” 

“Rather!” 

Finnerty sprang down the steps, caught the bridle 
rein, and said: “Bring Akbar for the sahib, quick!” 

Soon a bay Arab was brought by his own syce. 
“Come on, Gilfain, and see the sport 1 ” And Fin- 
nerty swung to the saddle. “It’s not Far,- but the 
rule when the alarm gong sounds is that my horse 
is brought; one never knows how far he may go be- 
fore he comes back.” To the bearer he added: 
“Bring my 8-bore and plenty of ball cartridges to the 
keddah.” 

When they arrived at the elephant lines, the na- 
tives were in a fever of unrest. Mahadua had an- 
swered the gong summons and was waiting, his small, 


158 


THE THREE SAPPHIRES 


wizened face carrying myriad wrinkles of excited 
interest. Mod’s mahout was squatted at the tam- 
arind to which she had been chained, the broken 
chain in his lap wet from tears that were streaming 
down the old fellow’s cheeks. 

“Look you, sahib!” he cried. “The chain has 
been cut with a file.” 

“Where is Mod?” Finnerty queried. 

“She is down in the cane,” a native answered; “I 
have just come from there.” 

“She has gone up into the sal forest,” another 
maintained. “I was coming down the hill and had 
to flee from the path, for she is must ” 

“Huzoor, the elephant has stripped the roof from 
my house,” a third, a native from Picklapara vil- 
lage, declared. “All the village has been laid flat 
and a hundred people killed. Will the sircar pay 
me for the loss of my house, for surely it is a gov- 
ernment elephant and we are poor people?” 

Finnerty turned to the shikari. “Mahadua, which 
way has Moti gone?” 

“These men are all liars, sahib — it is their man- 
ner of speech. Moti went near to Picklapara and 
the people all ran away; but she is now up on the 
hills.” 

The mahout stopped his droning lament long 
enough to say: “Sahib, Moti is not to be blamed, 
for she is drunk; she knows not where evil begins, 
because a man came in the night and gave her a 
ball of bhang wrapped up in sweets.” 

“We’ve got to capture the old girl before she 


THE THREE SAPPHIRES 


159 


kills some natives,” Finnerty declared. “If you 
chaps don’t mind a wait, I’ll get things ready and 
you’ll see better sport than killing something.” 

First the major had some “foot tacks” brought. 
They were sharp-pointed steel things with a broad 
base, looking like enormous carpet tacks. Placed 
on the path, if Moti stepped on one she would 
probably come in to the keddah to have her foot 
dressed. Four Moormen, natives of the Ceylon 
hills, were selected. These men were entitled to be 
called panakhans, for each one had noosed by the 
leg a wild elephant that had been captured, and very 
lithe and brave they looked as they stepped out, a 
rawhide noose over the shoulder of each. A small 
army of assistants were also assembled, and Raj 
Bahadar, a huge bull elephant. 

Finnerty sent the men and Raj Bahadar on ahead, 
saying that Moti might perhaps make up to the bull 
and not clear off to the deep jungle. Giving them a 
start of fifteen minutes, the three sahibs, Mahadua, 
and a man to carry the major’s 8-bore elephant gun 
followed. They travelled for an hour up through 
graceful bamboos and on into the rolling hills, com- 
ing upon the tusker and the natives waiting. 

Gothya, the mahout, salaamed, saying: 

“We have heard something that moves with noise 
in the jungle, and, not wishing to frighten Moti, we 
have waited for the sahib.” 

“It was a bison,” one of the men declared. “Twice 
have I seen his broad, black back.” 

“Sahib,” the mahout suggested, “it may be that 


160 


THE THREE SAPPHIRES 


it was a tiger, for Raj Bahadar has taken the wind 
with his trunk many times, after his manner when 
there are tiger about.” 

“Fools, all of you!” Finnerty said angrily. “You 
are wasting time.” 

“Sahib” — it was Mahadua’s plaintive voice — 
“these men, who are fitted for smoking opium in the 
bazaar, will most surely waste the sahib’s time. It 
is better that we go in front.” 

“I think you’re right,” Finnerty declared. “Go 
you in front, Mahadua, for you make little noise; 
the ears of an elephant are sharp, and we ride horses, 
but we will keep you in sight.” He turned to the 
mahout. “At a distance bring along Bahadur and 
the men.” 

The shikari grinned with delight; he salaamed 
the major in gratitude. To lead a hunt! He was 
in the seventh heaven. 

As noiseless as a brown shadow, he slipped 
through the jungle, and yet so free of pace that at 
times he had to wait lest the sahibs should lose his 
trail. Once they lost him for a little; when they 
came within sight he was standing with a hand up, 
and when they reached his side he said: “Sahib, 
sometimes a fool trips over the truth, and those two, 
who are assuredly fools in the jungle, have both 
spoken true words, for I have seen the hoofprints 
of a mighty bison and also the pugs of Pundit Bagh 
who has a foot like a rice pot. I will carry the 
8-bore, and if the sahib will walk he may get good 
hunting; the matter of Moti can wait.” 


THE THREE SAPPHIRES 


161 


“You’d better dismount, Lord Victor, and take the 
shot,” Finnerty advised. “A tiger is evidently stalk- 
ing the bison, so perhaps will be a little off guard. 
The syces will bring along the ponies.” 

Swinton dismounted also, saying: “I’ll prowl along 
with you, major, if you don’t object.” 

As Lord Victor slipped from his horse, Finnerty 
said: “If you don’t mind, I’ll give you a couple of 
pointers about still stalking, for if you’re quiet you 
have a good chance of bagging either a tiger or a 
bull bison. I can’t do anything to help you; you’ve 
got to depend on yourself and the gun.” 

“Thanks, old chap ; just tell me what I should do.” 

“You will keep Mahadua in sight. If you hear 
anything in the jungle that would cause you to look 
around, don’t turn your neck while you are moving, 
but stand perfectly still — that will prevent a noisy, 
false step. Don’t try to step on a log in crossing 
it — you might slip ; but sit on it and swing your legs 
over if you can’t stride it. When Mahadua holds 
up a finger that he sees something, don’t take a step 
without looking where you are going to place your 
foot, and don’t step on a stick or a stone. If it is 
the tiger, don’t shoot if he is coming toward you — < 
not until he has just passed; then rake him from 
behind the shoulder, and he’ll keep going — he won’t 
turn to charge. If you wound him when he’s coming 
on, it’s a hundred to one he’ll charge and maul you, 
even while he’s dying. As to the bull, shoot him 
any old way that brings him down, for the bison’s 
ferocity is good fiction.” 


162 


THE THREE SAPPHIRES 


Finnerty had given this lesson in almost a whis- 
per. Now he thrust the 8-bore into Lord Victor’s 
hand, saying: “This shoots true, flat-sighted, up to 
fifty yards; but don’t try to pick off that tiger at 
over twenty. The gun is deuced heavy — it weighs 
fifteen pounds — so don’t tire your arms carrying it 
at the ready. It fires a charge of twelve drams of 
powder, so hold it tight to your shoulder or it’ll 
break a bone. It throws a three-ounce, hollow-nosed 
bullet that’ll mushroom in either a tiger or a bison, 
and he’ll stop.” 

Mahadua took up the trail again, not following all 
the windings and zigzag angles of its erratic way, 
for they were now breasting a hill and he knew that 
the bull, finding the flies troublesome, would seek the 
top plateau so that the breeze would blow these 
pests away. The wind was favourable — on their 
faces — for the wise old bull travelled into it, know- 
ing that it would carry to him a danger taint if the 
tiger waited in ambush. 

“We’ll carry on for a little longer,” Finnerty said; 
“but if we find the bull is heading up into the sal 
forest we’ll give it up and go after Moti; she won’t 
be far away, I fancy.” 

They followed the bison’s trail, that had now 
straightened out as he fled from the thing that had 
disturbed his rest, for fifteen minutes, and Mahadua 
was just dipping over the plateau’s far edge when 
a turmoil of noises came floating up from the val- 
ley beyond — a turmoil of combat between large ani- 
mals. Quickening their pace, Finnerty and Swinton 


THE THREE SAPPHIRES 


163 


saw, as they reached the slope, Mahadua wiring his 
way into a wall of bamboo that hung like a screen 
on a shelving bank. 

“Come on!” Finnerty commanded. “There’s 
such a fiendish shindy down there we won’t be heard, 
and the wind is from that quarter.” 

Creeping through the bamboos, they saw Maha- 
dua, one hand in the air as a sign of caution, peering 
down into the hollow. Finnerty gasped with surg- 
ing delight as his eyes fell upon the regal picture 
that lay against the jungle background. A mighty 
bull bison, his black back as broad as a table, stood 
at bay with lowered head, his red-streaked, flash- 
ing eyes watching a huge tiger that crouched, ready 
to spring, a dozen feet away. 

“Pundit Bagh — see his spectacles, sahib !” the 
guide whispered. 

The torn-up ground told the battle had waged 
for some time. With a warning finger to his lips, 
Finnerty sat quivering with the joy of having stum- 
bled upon the life desire of every hunter of big game 
in India — the chance to witness a combat between a 
full-grown tiger and a bull bison. On one side fe- 
rocity, devilish cunning, strength, muscles like piano 
wire, and lightning speed; on the other, enormous 
power, cool courage, and dagger horns that if once 
well placed would disembowel the cat. 

Every wary twist of the crouching tiger’s head, 
every quiver of his rippling muscles, every false feint 
of the pads that dug restlessly at the sward, showed 
that he had no intention of being caught in a death 


164 


THE THREE SAPPHIRES 


grapple with the giant bull; he was like a wrestler 
waiting for a grip on the other’s neck, his lips curled 
in a taunting sneer. 

With a snort of defiance the bison suddenly 
charged; and Pundit Bagh, his yellow fangs bared 
in a savage growl, vaulted lightly to the top of a flat 
rock, taking a swipe with spread claws at the bull’s 
eyes as he passed. The bull, anticipating this move, 
had suddenly lowered his head, catching the blow 
on a strong, curved horn, and the Pundit sat on the 
rock holding the injured paw in the air, a comical 
look of surprise in his spectacled eyes. As the bison 
swung about, the tiger, slipping from the rock, faced 
him again, twenty feet away. 

Spellbound by the atmosphere of this Homeric 
duel, the sahibs had crouched, motionless, scarcely 
breathing, held by intense interest. Now, suddenly 
recalling his hunting mission, Lord Victor drew the 
8-bore forward; but Mahadua’s little black eyes 
looked into Finnerty’s in pathetic pleading, and the 
latter placed his big palm softly on the hand that 
held the gun. Lord Victor had been trained to un- 
derstand the chivalry of sport, and he nodded. A 
smile hovered on his lips as he held up the spread 
fingers of two hands and then pointed toward the 
bison. 

Finnerty understood, and, leaning forward, whis- 
pered: “You’re on for ten rupees, and I back 
Stripes.” 

“Sahib!” So low the tone of Mahadua’s voice 
that it barely reached their ears ; and following the 


THE THREE SAPPHIRES 


165 

line of a pointed finger they saw on the rounded 
knob of a little hill across the valley a red jungle dog, 
his erected tail weaving back and forth in an unmis- 
takable signal. 

“He’s flagging the pack,” Finnerty whispered. 
“Now we’ll see these devils at work.” 

Whimpering cries from here and there across the 
valley told that these dreaded brutes, drawn by the 
tiger’s angry roars, were gathering to be in at a 
death. 

The keen-eared bull had heard the yapping pack, 
and as his head turned for the fraction of a second 
Pundit Bagh stole three catlike steps forward; but 
as the horns came into defence he crouched, belly to 
earth, his stealthy feline nature teaching him that his 
only hope against his adversary’s vast bulk was some 
trick made possible by waiting a charge. 

Like Medusa’s hair which changed into serpents, 
the screening jungle thrust forth its many sinuous ten- 
tacles. Lean, red, black-nosed heads appeared from 
thorny bush and spiked grass, and step by step gaunt 
bodies came out into the arena. Some sat on their 
haunches, dripping tongues lapping at yellow fangs 
as though their owners already drank blood; others, 
uttering whimpering notes of anticipation, prowled 
in a semicircle, their movements causing Pundit Bagh 
to hug closer the bank with its jutting rocks. 

Both combatants in the presence of this new dan- 
ger stayed for a little their battle; they knew that 
the one that went down first would have the pack 
against him. 


166 


THE THREE SAPPHIRES 


Finnerty whispered : “The cunning devils will wait, 
and if Pundit Bagh wins out, but is used up — which 
he will be — the dogs will drive him away and eat 
his dinner. If he’s killed, they will devour him when 
the bison departs.” 

“I wouldn’t have missed this for a thousand 
guineas!” Lord Victor panted in a husky whisper. 

Finnerty, patting the gun, said: “We’ll probably 
have to settle it with this yet; so have it ready for 
a quick throw to your shoulder.” He picked up a 
stick from the ground and thrust an end into a clump 
of growing bamboos, adding: “There ! That 8-bore 
is mighty heavy; rest it across this stick. We won’t 
shoot the bison, no matter what happens; he’s like 
a gentleman assailed by a footpad. It will be Stripes 
or the dogs; so take your time drawing a bead— 
I’ll tell you when it’s necessary.” 

As if during this little lull following the jungle 
pack’s advent the bison had thought along the same 
lines as Major Finnerty, and had come to the con- 
clusion that if he turned tail dogs and tiger would 
pull him down, lowered his head, and, with a defiant 
snort, charged. A stride, and Pundit Bagh, who had 
plotted as he crouched, shot into the air, a quiver- 
ing mass of gold and bronze in the sunlight. But he 
had waited the fraction of a second too long; he 
missed the neck, landing on the high, grizzled wither. 
Like a flash his mighty arms were about the bull, 
and his huge jaws, wide-spread, snapped for a grip 
that, if secured, would break the vertebra — it would 
go like a pipestem in the closing of that vise of arms 


THE THREE SAPPHIRES 167 

and jaw. But the little shift from wither to neck 
caused him to miss the spine ; his fangs tore through 
flesh and he was crushed against a rock, his hold 
broken. 

The dogs, eager in bloodthirst, dashed in, snap- 
ping at the tiger’s rumps, and, as he whirled, sprang 
at his face. One blow of a paw, like the cut of a 
gold scimitar, and a dog landed ten feet away — 
pulp. 

A sigh of relief escaped from Finnerty as the 
dogs slunk back and Pundit Bagh, seemingly none 
the worse, crouched again for battle. 

“That is their way,” Mahadua whispered; “they 
seek to cut Bagh in his vitals behind, while in front 
others spit poison in his eyes to blind him ; the white 
froth that spouts from their mouths when they fight 
is poison.” 

Blood was dripping from the bison’s neck as he 
faced about, but the snap at his neck had not dis- 
couraged him; his actions showed that he would 
battle to the end. The taste of blood had broken 
the Pundit’s debonair nonchalance. Before he had 
been like a cat playing with a mouse ; he had purred 
and kinked his long tail in satirical jerks. Now he 
lashed his sides or beat the ground in anger. From 
his throat issued a snarling “W-o-u-g-h-n-ng!” Again 
he waited for his antagonist’s charge, slipping to one 
side as the black mass came hurtling toward him to 
swipe at the eyes, cutting clean away an ear and 
leaving red-blooded slits from cheek to shoulder, his 


168 THE THREE SAPPHIRES 

damaged paw once more suffering from contact with 
that hard skull. 

The dogs had edged in as the two clashed, but 
dropped back to their waiting line as tiger and bison 
faced each other again, the latter shaking his mas- 
sive head and pawing fretfully, as if angered at his 
enemy’s slipping away when they came to close quar- 
ters. Something of this must have stirred his own 
strategy, for, as he thundered in a charge, he swept 
his head sidewise as the tiger swerved, catching 
Stripes a crashing blow, the sharp incurve of the 
horn all that saved him from being ripped wide open. 
Half stunned, he was pinned to earth as the bull 
swung short to a fresh attack; and, seeing this, tak- 
ing it for the end, the dogs, with yaps of fury, closed 
in, snapping with their cutting teeth at flesh, wherever 
found. 

With a bellow of rage, the bull backed away three 
paces, and a dog that had gripped his neck was 
ground to death against the earth. Pundit Bagh 
thrust his body up through a dozen dogs that clung 
like red ants, and, whether in chivalry or blind an- 
ger, the bull, with lowered head, rushed on the yap- 
ping, snarling, lancing pack, at the first thrust his 
daggerlike horns piercing a dog. The outstretched 
black neck, the taut, extended spine almost brushing 
Pundit’s nose, flashed into his tiger mind the killing 
grip. Forgotten were the dogs in the blind call 
of blood lust. The widespread jaws crunched astride 
the neck, and, with a wrench that he had learned 
from his mother when a cub, the bull was thrown, 


THE THREE SAPPHIRES 169 

the dogs pouncing upon him with hunger in their 
hearts. 

At the first treacherous snap of the tiger’s jaws, 
Finnerty had acted. With the subservience of a 
medium, at the word “Now!” Lord Victor pressed 
the gunstock against his shoulder; his head drooped 
till his eye ranged the barrels; and, penetrating the 
booming thump of his heart, a calming voice was 
saying: “Take your time; aim behind the tiger’s 
shoulder. Stead-d-y, man !” His finger pulled heav- 
ily on the trigger, the gun roared, and a sledge- 
hammer blow on his shoulder all but sprawled him; 
then the gun was snatched from his hands. Half 
dazed, he saw Finnerty send another bullet into 
something. There was a “Click! Snap!” as two 
fresh shells were slipped into the barrels, and again 
the 8-bore thundered twice. 

Springing to his feet, Gilfain saw a great mass of 
gold and brown flat to earth, and the black rump 
of a bison bull galloping off into the jungle. Then 
his fingers were being crushed in the huge hand of 
Finnerty, who was saying: “My dear boy, a corking 
shot — straight through the heart; he never moved! 
I shot two or three dogs!” 

“Demme!” was all the pumped-out Lord Victor 
could gasp, as he sank back to the knob of earth he 
had been sitting on. 

“One never knows,” Finnerty said, shoving a fresh 
cartridge into the 8-bore, “if a tiger is really dead till 
he’s skinned. Come on; we’ll look.” 

Mahadua, saying, “Have patience, sahib,” threw 


170 


THE THREE SAPPHIRES 


a stone, hitting Pundit Bagh fair on the head. There 
was no movement. Then, striding in front, Fin- 
nerty prodded the fallen monarch with his gun muz- 
zle. He was indeed dead. 

“I got a couple of those vermin, anyway,” and 
Finnerty pointed to two dogs the big 8-bore bullet 
had nearly blown to pieces. 

Mahadua, on his knees, was muttering: “Salaam, 
Pundit Bagh!” and patting the huge head that held 
the fast-glazing yellow globes set in black-rimmed 
spectacles. There was a weird reflex of jungle rev- 
erence in his eyes as, rising, he said, addressing Fin- 
nerty: “Sahib, Pundit Bagh did not kill men nor 
women nor children; this was the way he fought.” 
And then, when there were no eyes upon him, he 
surreptitiously plucked three long bristles from the 
tiger’s moustache, slipping them into his jacket 
pocket to be kept as a charm against jungle devils. 

Lord Victor had come down the hill, dead to sen- 
sation; he had walked like one in a dream. The 
fierce press of contained excitement had numbed his 
brain; now he loosened to the erratic mood of a 
child; he laughed idiotically, while tears of excited 
joy rolled down his pink cheeks; he babbled inco- 
herent, senseless words; he wanted to kiss Finnerty, 
Pundit Bagh, or something, or somebody; he would 
certainly give Mahadua a hundred rupees; he fell 
to unlacing and lacing his shoes in nervous dementia. 
What would the earl say? What would the fellows 
at the London clubs say? 

Finnerty had a tape out, and, passing his note- 


THE THREE SAPPHIRES 


171 


book to Swinton, he, with Mahadua at one end of 
the tape, rapidly ruled off the following measure- 
ments : 


Feet Inches 


From point of nose to tip of tail io 

Length of tail 2 10 

Girth behind shoulders 4 4 

Girth of head 3 4 

Girth of forearm 1 10 

Height at shoulder 3 6 


“There!” And Finnerty put his tape in his 
pocket. “Pundit Bagh is a regal one. I feel sorry 
we had to shoot him in just that way; but the dogs 
spoiled a good fight. Fancy your getting a skin like 
that to take back, Lord Victor — it’s luck! And re- 
member, gentlemen, we must spread this mandate 
that a bull bison with one ear goes free of the gun, 
for he was a right-couraged one.” 

“Rather!” Lord Victor ejaculated. “To-night 
we’ll drink a toast in fizz to the one-eared bull — a 
thoroughbred gentleman!” 

“We’ll need the elephant up to pad this tiger,” 
Finnerty said. Mahadua, who was sent to bring on 
Raj Bahadar, had not been gone two minutes when 
from their back trail came, upwind, the shrill trum- 
peting of two elephants, and mingling with this was 
the harsh honk of a conch shell. 

“That’s Moti, or wild elephants tackling Raj 


172 


THE THREE SAPPHIRES 


Bahadar,” Finnerty declared. “I must get back. 
The tiger will be all right here for a little — those 
dogs won’t come back — and I’ll send Mahadua and 
the elephant after him.” 


PART THREE 






















































PART THREE 


/ 


Chapter XIII 

I T was a stirring scene that greeted the three 
sahibs on their arrival at the conflict. Like a 
family of monkeys the natives decorated the 
tree, while below was Burra Moti giving lusty bat- 
tle to the tusker. Either out of chivalry or cow- 
ardice, Raj Bahadar was backing up, refusing to 
obey the prod of his mahout’s goad, and charge. 

As Moti came at the bull like a battering-ram he 
received her on his forehead, the impact sounding 
like the crash of two meeting freight cars, and she, 
vindictively cunning, with a quick twist of her head, 
gashed him in the neck with a long tusk. 

“Come down out of there, you women of the 
sweeper caste!” Finnerty commanded. The natives 
dropped to the ground. One of them, uncoiling his 
rawhide rope, darted in behind Moti, noosed a lifted 
foot, and ran back with the trailing end. 

Raj Bahadar, discouraged by the thrust in his 
neck, wheeled and fled, pursued by Moti, the native 
lassooer, clinging to the trailing noose, being whipped 
about like a wind-tossed leaf. With a shout Fin- 
nerty followed, the others joining in the chase. 

A thick growth of timber checked Raj Bahadar, 
and, as Moti slackened her pace, the man with the 
175 


176 


THE THREE SAPPHIRES 

rawhide darted around a tree with the rope; Fin- 
nerty and the others grasped the end, the rawhide 
creaked and stretched, and as Moti plunged forward 
her hind leg was suddenly yanked into the air, bring- 
ing her down. Another man sprang in to noose a 
foreleg, but Moti was too quick for him; she was up 
to stand for a little sullen meditation. 

The native flashed in and out, almost within reach 
of her trunk, trying to make her raise a forefoot 
that he might noose it and slip his rawhide about a 
tree, when Moti, tethered fore and aft, would be 
helpless. 

“Be careful!” Finnerty called as the noose man 
slipped in and flicked Moti on the knee with no re- 
sult but the curling up of her trunk, as if out of 
harm’s way. Again he danced in, and as the long 
trunk shot out like a snake darting from a coil he 
sprang beneath the big head, giving a laugh of de- 
rision; but Moti struck sidewise with a forefoot, and 
with a sickening crunch the man dropped ten feet 
away. 

Uttering a squeal of rage, the elephant whipped 
about and charged back, the rawhide noose breaking 
like a piece of twine. Finnerty was fair in her path, 
but with a grunt, as if to say, “Get out of the way, 
friend,” she brushed by him, and would have gone 
straight off to the jungle had not a man, in a sudden 
folly of fright, darted from behind a tree only to 
stumble and fall before he had taken a dozen steps. 
Down on her knees went Moti, seeking to spear the 
fallen man with her tusks, but at the first thrust one 


T He three sapphires 


177 


went either side of his body, and, being long, the 
great, crushing head did not quite reach him. Grasp- 
ing both pillars of this ivory archway, the man 
wriggled out and escaped as Moti, pulling her tusks 
out of the soft earth, rose, cocked her ears, drove a 
whistle of astonishment through her trunk, and then 
scuttled off to the jungle. 

“We won’t follow her up,” Finnerty declared; 
“the noosing has flustered the old girl and we’ll not 
get near her again to-day; she’d keep going if she 
heard us and we’d lose her forever up in the hills.” 

Mahadua advised: “If the mahout will tickle 
Bahadar with his hook so that he speak now and 
then, perhaps Moti, being lonesome and remember- 
ing of cakes and home, will come back like an angry 
woman who has found peace.” 

Thinking this a good plan, Finnerty gave the ma- 
hout orders to entice Moti in if she came about. A 
dozen men were sent to bring the tiger, slung from 
a pole, to the bungalow ; they would bring back food 
to the others. 

Telling the natives he would join them in the hunt 
next day, Finnerty and his companions mounted their 
horses to ride back. 

Coming to the road that wound through the cool 
sal forest, they saw Prince Ananda riding toward 
them. 

“What luck?” he greeted when they met. “I heard 
that an elephant had taken to the jungle.” He 
wheeled his Arab with them, adding: “You look 


178 THE THREE SAPPHIRES 

done up. Come along to the palace and have a cool- 
ing drink.” 

Lord Victor ranged his horse alongside Ananda’s 
Arab as they started, but as they drew near the pal- 
ace grounds Darpore halted his horse, and, pointing 
his hunting crop across the broad valley below in 
which lay the town, said: “Yonder was the road 
along which, so many centuries ago, Prince Sakya 
Singha’s mother came when he was born here in 
the Lumbini Garden.” 

Swinton, in whose mind the prince was arraigned 
as a vicar of the devil — at least as a seditious prince 
which, to a British officer, was analogous — felt the 
curious subtlety of this speech; for, sitting his beau- 
tiful Arab, outlined against the giant sal trees, their 
depths holding the mysteries of centuries, he had an 
Oriental background that made his pose compelling. 

Lord Victor moved a little to one side, as if his 
volatile spirits felt a dampening, the depression of 
a buried past; and Prince Ananda, turning his Arab, 
drew Swinton along to his side by saying: “Have you 
come in contact with the cleavage of religious fa- 
naticism in India, captain?” 

“My experience was only of the army; there the 
matter of Hindu or Mussulman is now better under- 
stood and better arranged,” Swinton answered cau- 
tiously as he and Ananda rode forward side by side. 

The captain was puzzled. Training had increased 
the natural bent of his mind toward a suspicious 
receptivity where he felt there was necessity. He 
had decided that the prince, with Oriental lethargy, 


THE THREE SAPPHIRES 


179 

never acted spontaneously — that there was something 
behind every move he made; his halt, back on the 
road, was evidently to make a change from Lord 
Victor to himself in their alignment. Temporarily 
the captain fancied that the prince might wish to 
draw from him some account of the preceding night’s 
adventure. Indeed, as a Raj horse had probably 
been killed, Ananda could not have missed hearing 
of the accident. 

It was Lord Victor’s voice that stirred these 
thoughts to verbal existence. “I say, Prince An- 
anda,” he suddenly asked, “did you hear that my 
mentor had been devoured by a tiger last night?” 

As if startled into a remembrance, Ananda said: 
“Sorry, captain, I forgot to ask if anything did hap- 
pen you last night. My master of horse reported 
this morning that your pony was found with a broken 
leg at the foot of a cliff; then I heard that you had 
gone off with the major, so knew you were all right. 
You see, well” — the prince spoke either in genuine 
or assumed diffidence — “as it was a Raj pony that 
came to grief I couldn’t very well speak of it; that 
is, knowing that you were all right.” 

“When I heard it,” Gilfain broke in, “remember- 
ing what you had said about the hunting leopard, I 
was deuced well bashed, I assure you.” 

“Was there — anything — in the report of — a tiger 
trying to maul you?” the prince asked, and Swinton, 
tilting his helmet, found the luminous black eyes 
reading his face. 

But Swinton could have been plotting murder be- 


180 


THE THREE SAPPHIRES 


hind those “farthing eyes” for all they betrayed as 
he answered: “I don’t know what frightened the ani- 
mal; he suddenly shied and I was thrown out, com- 
ing a cropper on my head which put me to sleep for 
a few minutes. When I came to the pony and cart 
had disappeared and there was nothing for it but 
go back to the major’s bungalow for the night.” 

“Then there was nothing in the tiger story,” the 
prince commented. 

“I saw no tiger, anyway,” Swinton declared, and 
Finnerty chuckled inwardly, for, like the captain, he 
had been mystified by Darpore’s sudden interest in 
the latter. 

The prince had presented something akin to a 
caste aloofness toward Swinton ; now the change had 
tensed Finnerty’s perceptions so that he took cog- 
nizance of things that ordinarily would have passed 
as trivial. He saw Ananda deliberately ride past 
the road that would have taken them to the magnifi- 
cent courtyard entrance of the palace, the beautiful 
red rubble road that wound its way through crotons, 
oleanders, and hibiscus around the fairy Lake of the 
Golden Coin to cross the marble-arched bridge. Now 
they were following a road that led through the zoo 
to the back entrance. As they came to a massive 
teakwood gate, from the left of which stretched 
away in a crescent sweep a wall of cages — the first 
one at the very gatepost holding a fiend, a man-kill- 
ing black leopard — the major pressed his mount 
close to the rump of Swinton’s horse, upon the right 
of whom rode Prince Ananda. A guard saluted, an 


THE THREE SAPPHIRES 


181 


attendant swung the teakwood barrier inward, and 
while it was still but half open Ananda pressed for- 
ward, his horse carrying Swinton’s with him into a 
holocaust of lightning-like happenings. 

Swinton turned toward the prince at some word, 
and at that instant the latter’s horse swerved against 
h ; s mount, as if stung by a spur on the outside; a 
black arm, its paw studded with glittering claws, 
flashed through the bars of the cage with a sweep 
like a scimitar’s, striking Swinton full in the chest, 
the curved claws hooking through his khaki coat and 
sweeping him half out of the saddle toward the iron 
bars against which he would be ripped to pieces in 
a second. With an oath, Finnerty’s whip came down 
on his horse’s flank, and the Irishman’s body was 
driven like a wedge between the leopard and his 
prey; the thrusting weight tore the claws through 
the cloth of Swinton’s coat, and, still clutching 
viciously, they slashed Finnerty across the chest, a 
gash the width of his chin showing they had all but 
torn through his throat. 

Swinton pulled himself into the saddle and looked 
back at the major’s blood-smeared chin and on be- 
yond to the sinister black creature that stood up on 
his hind legs against the bars of his cage thrusting 
a forepaw through playfully as though it were only 
a bit of feline sport. He shuddered at the devilish- 
ness of the whole thing that looked so like another 
deliberate attempt. The prince would know that 
that black fiend, true to his jungle instincts, would be 
waiting in hiding behind the brick wall of his cage 


182 


THE THREE SAPPHIRES 


for a slash at any warm-blooded creature rounding 
the corner. They were a fighting pair, this black, 
murderous leopard and the prince. Finnerty was 
checking the blood flow on his chin with a handker- 
chief; his eyes, catching Swinton’s as they turned 
from the leopard, were full of fierce anger. 

There had been an outburst of grating calls and 
deep, reverberating roars as leopards and tigers, 
roused by the snarl of the black demon as he struck, 
gave vent to their passion. 

As if stirred to ungovernable anger by the dan- 
ger his friends had incurred through the gateman’s 
fault, Ananda turned on the frightened man, and, 
raising his whip, brought it down across his back. 
Twice the lash fell, and two welts rose in the smooth 
black skin; this assault accompanied by a torrent of 
abuse that covered chronologically the native’s an- 
cestry back to his original progenitor, a jungle pig. 
Ananda’s face, livid from this physical and mental 
assault, smoothed out with a look of contrite sorrow 
as he apologised to his companions. 

“I’m awfully sorry, major; that fool nearly cost 
us a life by frightening my horse with his frantic 
efforts to open the gate. He’s an opium eater, and 
must have been beating that leopard with his staff 
to have made him so suddenly vicious. Your coat 
is ripped, captain; are you wounded?” 

“No, thanks!” Swinton answered dryly. 

“You are, major.” 

“Nothing much — a scratch. I’ll have to be care- 
ful over blood poisoning, that’s all.” 


THE THREE SAPPHIRES 


183 


“Yes,” the prince said, “I’ll have my apothecary 
apply an antiseptic.” 

As they wound between a spurting fountain and a 
semicircle of iron-barred homes, a monkey dropped 
his black, spiderlike body from an iron ring in the 
ceiling, and, holding by a coil in the end of his tail, 
swung back and forth, head down, howling dismally. 
Bedlam broke forth in answer to this discordant 
wail. 

“Delightful place!” Finnerty muttered as he rode 
at Swinton’s elbow. 

“Inferno and the archfiend!” And Swinton 
nodded toward the back of Prince Ananda, who rode 
ahead. 

In the palace dispensary Finnerty brushed the 
apothecary to one side and treated his slashed chin 
with iodine; a rough treatment that effectually 
cleaned the cut at the bottom, which was the bone. 

They did not tarry long over the champagne, and 
were soon in the saddle again. Finnerty asked his 
companions to ride on to his bungalow for an early 
dinner. Lord Victor declined, declaring he was 
clean bowled, but insisted that the captain should 
accept. As for himself, he was going to bed, being 
ghastly tired. 

As Swinton and the major sat puffing their cheroots 
on the verandah after dinner, the latter gave a de- 
spairing cry of “Great Kuda!” as his eyes caught 
sight of the Banjara swinging up the road, evidently 
something of import flogging his footsteps. “We 


184 


THE THREE SAPPHIRES 


shall now be laughed at for not having bagged that 
tiger yesterday.” Finnerty chuckled. 

But the Lumbani was in no hurry to disburse what- 
ever was in his mind, for he folded his black blanket 
on the verandah at the top step and sat down, sa- 
laaming in a most grave manner first. Finnerty and 
Swinton smoked and talked in English, leaving the 
tribesman to his own initiative. Presently he asked: 
“Is the young sahib who shot my dog present?” 

Relief softened the austere cast of his bony face 
when Finnerty answered “No.” 

“It is as well,” the Lumbani said, “for the young 
have not control of their tongues. But the sahib” 
— and the Banjara nodded toward Swinton, his eyes 
coming back to Finnerty’ s face — “is a man of dis- 
cretion, is it not so, huzoor?” 

To this observation the major agreed. 

“And the sahib will not repeat what I tell?” 

The Lumbani rubbed his long, lean hands up and 
down the length of his staff as though it were a fairy 
wand to ward off evil; his black, hawklike eyes 
swept the compound, the verandah, as much of the 
bungalow interior as they could; then pitching his 
voice so that it carried with wonderful accuracy just 
to the ears of the two men, he said: “There was a 
man beaten to-day at the gate of the tiger garden.” 

Neither of the sahibs answered, and he proceeded: 
“The gateman who was beaten is a brother to me; 
not a blood brother, sahib, but a tribe brother, for 
he is a Banjara of the Lumbani caste.” 

“By Jove!” The major clamped his jaws close 


THE THREE SAPPHIRES 185 

after this involuntary exclamation and waited. 

“Yes, sahib” — the Lumbani had noticed with sat- 
isfaction the major’s start — “my brother has shown 
me the welts on his shoulder, such as are raised on 
a cart bullock, but he is not a bullock, being a Ban- 
jara.” 

There was a little silence, the native turning over 
in his mind something else he wished to say, trying 
to discover first what impression he had made, his 
shrewd eyes searching Finnerty’s face for a sign. 
Suddenly, as if taking a plunge, he asked: “Does the 
sahib, who is a man, approve that the servant be 
beaten like a dog — even though the whip lay in the 
hands of a rajah?” 

Finnerty hesitated. It is not well to give encour- 
agement to a native against the ruling powers, 
whether they be black or white. 

“And he was not at fault,” the Banjara added per- 
suasively; “he did not frighten the pony — it was the 
rajah’s spur, for my brother saw blood on the skin 
of the horse where the spur had cut.” 

“Why didn’t he open the gate wide; had he orders 
not to do so?” Finnerty asked quickly. 

“Sahib, if the rajah had passed orders such as 
that he would not have struck a Banjara like a dog, 
lest there be telling of the orders; but the gate had 
been injured so that it would not open as always, 
and the tender did not know it.” 

“But the rajah did not know we’d be coming 
along at that time,” the major parried. 

“As to time, one day matters no more than an- 


186 


THE THREE SAPPHIRES 


other. The rajah would have invited you through 
that gate some time. But he did know you were up 
in the jungle, and rode forth to meet you.” 

“It was but a happening,” Finnerty asserted, with 
the intent of extracting from the Lumbani what fur- 
ther evidence he had. 

“When one thing happens many times it is more 
a matter of arrangement than of chance,” the Ban- 
jara asserted. 

“I don’t understand,” Finnerty declared. 

“There is a window in the palace, sahib, directly 
in front of the gate, and it has been a matter of pas- 
time for the rajah to sit at that window when some- 
body against whom he had ill will would be ad- 
mitted and clawed by that black devil.” 

“Impossible !” 

“It is not a new thing, sahib; my brother who was 
beaten knows of this.” 

Finnerty stepped into his room, and returning 
placed a couple of rupees in the ready palm of the 
Banjara, saying: “Your brother has been beaten be- 
cause of us, so give him this.” 

The Lumbani rolled the silver in the fold of his 
loin cloth, and, indicating Swinton with his staff, said: 
“The sahib should not go at night to the hill, neither 
here nor there” — he swept an arm in the direction of 
the palace — “for sometimes that evil leopard is 
abroad at night.” 

Finnerty laughed. 

The Banjara scowled: “As to that, the black 
leopard has had neither food nor water to-day, and 


THE THREE SAPPHIRES 


187 


if the sahibs sit up over the pool in Jadoo Nala they 
may see him drink.” 

“We’d see a jungle pig coming out of the fields, 
or a muntjac deer with his silly little bark # perhaps,” 
Finnerty commented in quiet tolerance. 

“Such do drink at the pool, but of these I am not 
speaking. The young man being not with you to dis- 
arrange matters, you might happen upon something 
of interest, sahib,” the Banjara declared doggedly. 

“We are not men to chase a phantom — to go and 
sit at Jadoo Pool because a herdsman has fallen 
asleep on the back of a buffalo and had a dream.” 

Behind a faint smile the Lumbani digested this. 
“Very well, sahib,” he exclaimed presently, with defi- 
nite determination; “I will speak. When my brother 
was beaten the dust was shaken from his ears and he 
has heard. Beside the big gate Darna Singh and 
his sister, the princess, talked to-day, and the speech 
was of those who would meet in secret at the pool 
to-night.” 

“Who meet there?” 

“The rajah’s name was spoken, sahib.” 

“How knew Darna Singh this?” 

“There be always teeth that can be opened with 
a silver coin. Now,” and the Lumbani gathered up 
his black blanket, throwing it over his shoulder, “I 
go to my herd, for there is a she-buffalo heavy in 
calf and to-night might increase the number of my 
stock.” 

“Have patience, Lumbani,” Finnerty commanded, 
and as the Banjara turned to stand in waiting he 


188 


THE THREE SAPPHIRES 


added to Swinton: “What do you think, captain — 
we might learn something? But there’s Lord Vic- 
tor; he’ll expect you home.” 

“I’ll drop him a note saying we’re going to sit up 
over the Jadoo Pool and to not worry if I don’t get 
home to-night.” 

Finnerty brought pencil and paper, and when the 
note was written handed it to the Banjara, saying: 
“For the young sahib at the bungalow, and if he re- 
ceives it you will be paid eight annas to-morrow.” 

The herdsman put the note in his loin cloth and 
strode away. At the turn where Swinton had been 
thrown from his dogcart he dropped the note over 
the cliff, explaining to the sky his reasons : “A hunt 
is spoiled by too many hunters. It is not well that 
the young sahib reads that they go to Jadoo Pool — 
it was not so meant of the gods — and as to the ser- 
vice, I have eaten no salt of the sahib’s, having not 
yet been paid.” 

The old chap was naturally sure that Swinton had 
written in the note that the young sahib was to join 
them at the pool. 

As he plodded downhill he formulated his excuse 
for nondelivery of the note. It would be that the 
she-buffalo had demanded his immediate care, and in 
all the worry and work it had been forgotten and 
then lost. It was well to have a fair excuse to tender 
a sahib who put Punjabi wrestlers on their backs. 


Chapter XIV 


A FTER the Banjara had gone, Finnerty said: 
“That’s the gentle Hindu for you — mixes his 
mythology and data; he’s found out some- 
thing, I believe, and worked his fancy for the melo- 
drama of the black leopard stalking abroad at night.” 

“I’m here to follow up any possible clue that may 
lead to the discovery of anything,” Swinton ob- 
served. 

“Besides,” the major added, “I meant to take you 
for a sit up over that pool some night; many an in- 
teresting hour I’ve spent sitting in a machan over a 
pool watching jungle dwellers. There’s a salt lick 
in Jadoo Nala, and even bison, shy as they are, have 
been known to come down out of the big sal forest 
to that pool. Nobody shoots over it, so that entices 
the animals ; but Prince Ananda has a roomy machan 
there with an electric light in it. I suppose one of 
his German chaps put it in, for he has an electric 
lighting plant under the palace, also an ice-making 
machine. We’d better get a couple of guns fixed 
up in the way of defence, for it will be dark in an 
hour or so.” 

He went to his room and returned with a gun in 
each hand, saying: “Fine-sighted rifles will be little 
use; here’s a double-barrelled 12-bore Paradox, with 
some ball cartridges. We won’t be able to see any- 
189 


190 


THE THREE SAPPHIRES 


thing beyond twenty yards, and she’ll shoot true for 
that distance; I’ll take this io-bore. Now we’ll go 
over into the jungle and get some night sights.” 

Wonderingly Swinton accompanied Finnerty, and 
just beyond the compound they came to a halt be- 
neath a drooping palm, from a graceful branch of 
which a long, pear-shaped nest swung gently back 
and forth in the evening breeze. “This is the nest 
of the baya, the weaver bird; it’s a beautiful bit of 
architecture,” Finnerty said as he tapped with gen- 
tle fingers on the tailored nest. 

A fluttering rustle within, followed by the swoop- 
ing flight of a bird, explained his motive. “I didn’t 
want the little cuss to beat her eggs to pieces in 
fright when I put my hand in,” he added softly as 
he thrust two fingers up the tunnellike entrance to the 
nest, drawing them forth with a little lump of soft 
clay between their tips in which was imbedded a glow- 
worm. “That will make a most excellent night 
sight,” the major explained; “there should be two 
or three more in there.” 

“What is the idea of this most extraordinarily 
clever thing?” Swinton asked. 

“It may be food in cold storage, but the natives 
say it’s a matter of lighting up the house. At any 
rate, I’ve always found these glowworms alive and 
ready to flash their little electric bulbs.” 

As he gathered two more nature incandescents 
Finnerty indicated the beauty of the nest. The in- 
sects were placed in the hall, or tunnel entrance, and 
above this, to one side, like a nursery, was the breed- 


THE THREE SAPPHIRES 191 

ing nest, the whole structure being hung by a net- 
work of long grass and slender roots from the branch 
of the palm. 

As they went back to the bungalow, Finnerty, as 
if switched from the machinations of Prince Ananda 
by the touch of nature’s sweet handicraft in the nest, 
fell into a mood so poetically gentle that Swinton 
could hardly subdue a sense of incongruity in its as- 
sociation with the huge-framed speaker. There was 
no doubt whatever about the pleasing thrill of sin- 
cerity in his Irish voice as he said, ‘‘One of my en- 
joyments is the study of bird nidification. They run 
true to breeding — which is more than we do. On 
that” — he pointed to a giant teakwood monarch that 
had fallen perhaps a century before and was draped 
with a beautiful shroud of lichen and emerald-green 
moss that peeped from between bracken and fern — 
“is the nest of a little yellow-bellied ‘fly-catcher war- 
bler’ that is built of brilliant green moss lined with 
snowy cotton-silk from the Simul tree. See that fel- 
low?” and Finnerty pointed to a little scarlet-and- 
black bird, its wings splashed with grey and gold, 
sitting on a limb. “That’s a Minivet; she covers 
her nest with lichens so that on a lichen-covered limb 
it looks like a knot.” 

“Tremendously wise are Nature’s children,” Swin- 
ton contributed. 

“Generally,” Finnerty answered thoughtfully: 
“sometimes, though, her children do such foolish 
things. For instance, the Frog-mouth is just as cun- 
ning about hiding her nest, covering it with scraps 


192 THE THREE SAPPHIRES 

of bark and moss to make it look like the limb of 
a tree, lining it inside with down from her own 
breast; but there’s a screw loose somewhere, for she 
lays two eggs and the nest is never big enough to 
contain more than one bird, so the other one is 
crowded out to die.” 

They were at the bungalow now, and saying that 
he and Swinton must have a day some time among 
the birds Finnerty adjusted the night sights. With 
a slim rubber band he fastened a match across the 
double barrels at the front sight and beneath this 
placed a glowworm. 

As Finnerty and Swinton went by a jungle path 
up the hill, the oncoming night was draping the for- 
est with heavy gloom. 

“We’ll get within sight of the palace by this path,” 
the major advised, “and then we’ll skirt around the 
Lake of the Golden Coin to see if there are indica- 
tions of things unusual.” 

When they came out on the plateau they were on 
the road that wound about the palace outside of the 
garden wall, and as they passed the teakwood gate 
it looked forbiddingly sombre outlined against the 
palace light. Swinton shuddered, and through his 
mind flashed a curious thought of how so much 
treacherous savagery could exist in the mind of a 
man capable of soft-cultured speech, and who was of 
a pleasing grace of physical beauty. 

They circled the Lake of the Golden Coin till they 
faced the marble bridge; here they stood in the 
shadow of a mango thicket. The moon, now climb- 


THE THREE SAPPHIRES 


193 


ing to shoot its rays through the feathery tops of the 
sal trees, picked out the palace in blue-grey tones, the 
absence of lights, the pillared architecture, giving 
it the suggestion of a vast mausoleum. 

Finnerty placed his hand on Swinton’s arm, the 
clasp suggesting he was to listen. Straining his ear, 
he heard the measured military tramp of men; then 
their forms loomed grotesquely in the struggling 
moonlight as they crossed the marble bridge coming 
from the palace; even in that uncertain light the 
military erectness of the figures, the heavy, meas- 
ured tramp told Swinton they were Prussians. Fin- 
nerty and the captain hurried away, and as they 
passed around the lake end to the road a figure, or 
perhaps two, indefinite, floated across a patch of 
moonlight like a drift of smoke. 

The major spread his nostrils. “Attar of rose! 
Did you get it, Swinton?’’ 

“Think I did.” 

“There’s only one woman on this hill whose 
clothes are so saturated with attar.” 

“Ananda’s princess? What would she be doing 
out here at night?” 

As they moved along, Finnerty chuckled: “What 
are we doing up here? What were the Prussians 
doing in the prince’s palace? What is Marie doing 
here in Darpore? I tell you, captain, I wouldn’t 
give much for that girl’s chances if the princess thinks 
she’s a rival. The princess comes from a Rajput 
family that never stopped at means to an end.” 

“It would suggest that there is really something 


194 


THE THREE SAPPHIRES 


on to-night. Doesn’t Boelke’s bungalow lie up in 
that direction?” 

“Yes; and I think it was two women who passed; 
probably it was Marie’s ayah whom the Banjara 
referred to when he said there were always teeth 
that could be opened with a silver coin. Prince 
Ananda has not been seen much with the girl, but 
the princess may have discovered that he meets her 
at the pool. It would be a safe trysting place so 
far as chance discovery is concerned, for natives 
never travel that path at night; they believe that a 
phantom leopard lives in the cave from which the 
salt stream issues. This is the way,” he added, turn- 
ing to the left along a path that dipped down in 
gentle gradient to the beginning of Jadoo Nala, 
which in turn led on to a valley that reached the 
great plain. 

Along this valley lay a trail, stretching from the 
forest-covered hills to the plains, that had been worn 
by the feet of great jungle creatures — bison, tiger, 
even elephants, in their migratory trips, Finnerty 
told Swinton, and sometimes they wandered up Jadoo 
Nala for a lick at the salt, knowing that they were 
never disturbed. 

There was some bitterness in the major’s low- 
pitched voice as he said: “Jadoo Pool would be an 
ideal spot for pothunters who come out here to kill 
big game and sit up in a machan over a drinking 
place to blaze away at bison or tiger, generally only 
wounding the animal in the bad night light; if it’s 
a tiger he goes off into the jungle, and, crazed by the 


THE THREE SAPPHIRES 


195 


pain of a festering sore, will kill on sight, and finally, 
his strength and speed reduced by the weakening 
wound, will turn to killing the easiest kind of game 
— man; becomes a man-eater. I once shot a rogue 
elephant that had killed a dozen people, and found 
that the cause of his madness was a maggot-filled 
hole in his skull that had been made by a ball from 
an 8-bore in the hands of a juvenile civil servant, 
fired at night.” 

Finnerty’s monologue was cut short by the 
screeching bell of a deer. “A chital at the pool; 
something, perhaps a leopard hunting his supper, has 
startled him,” he advised. 

They moved forward softly, their feet scarce 
making a rustle on the smooth path, and as they came 
to the roots of a graceful pipal that stretched its lean 
arms out over the pool, from the opposite bank the 
startled cry of the deer again rent the brooding 
stillness as he bounded away, his little hoofs ringing 
on the stony hill. 

A light bamboo ladder, strapped to the pipal, led 
to a machan that was hidden by a constructed wall 
of twigs and grass, through which were little open- 
ings that afforded a view of the pool. 

As they reached the machan, Finnerty said: “As 
we are here to hear and see only, I suppose that even 
if Pundit Bagh comes we let him go free, eh?” 

“Yes; I really don’t want to kill anything while 
I’m in Darpore; that is, unless it’s necessary to take 
a pot shot at a Hun, and I have a feeling that we’re 


196 


THE THREE SAPPHIRES 


going to see something worth while — that Banjara 
is no fool.” 

Then the two men settled back on the springy, 
woven floor of the machan to a wait in the myste- 
rious night of a tropical jungle. Stilled, the noise of 
their own movements hushed, the silence of the 
mighty forest was oppressive ; it suggested vastness, 
a huge void, as though they sat in a gigantic cave, 
themselves the only living thing within. A dried 
leaf rustling to earth sounded like the falling of a 
large body; the drip of dew-drops on the leaf car- 
pet was heard because of the dead stillness; a be- 
lated nightjar, one of those mysterious sailors of the 
night air, swept across the pool with his sad cry, 
“Chyeece — chyeece!” Then the stillness. 

Swinton, his ear tuned to the outer distances of the 
void, caught a soft faint rub-a-dub, rub-a-dub! that 
drifted lazily up from a village in the plain, where 
some native thrummed idly on a tom-tom or his wife 
pounded grain in a clay mortar. Then something 
rustled the leaves just where the little streamlet 
flowed sluggishly from the cave to the pool, and 
something that was a hare or a mouse-deer slipped 
across the open space upon which the moon swept 
its soft light. To the left a startled “bhar-ha-ha !” 
from the bank above the pool was followed by a 
tattoo of tiny stamping hoofs as a muntjac, fright- 
ened by the mouse-deer, gave this first evidence of 
his own approach; then he bounded away, leaving 
stillness to take his place. 

The boom of a gun sounded drowsily from down 


THE THREE SAPPHIRES 


197 


In the plains, some native, sitting up in a machan to 
guard his jowari or sugar cane, had fired his old 
muzzle-loader to frighten away greedy jungle pigs 
or bison. 

Swinton found the drowsiness of the brooding 
jungle creeping into his frame ; with difficulty he kept 
from sleep. He knew enough of jungle watching to 
know that he dare not smoke ; the telltale odour of 
burning tobacco would leave them indeed in their 
solitude. And there was the thought that something 
was to happen, some mysterious thing to eventuate ; 
the Banjara had not sent them there to see deer 
drinking at the pool or even to feast their eyes on 
bigger game. 

What was it? What was it? His head drooped 
toward his chest; dreamily he heard the soft rustle 
of something close; half consciously he raised his 
heavy lids to gaze into two big round orbs that 
blazed with ruby light. On the point of calling out, 
he saw a pair of white wings spread; there was an 
almost silent swoop, and that night hunter, the great 
horned owl, swept away. He felt the pressure of 
Finnerty’s elbow ; it was a silent laugh. 

For five minutes the unruffled pool mirrored the 
moon in placid silence; it lay beneath them like some 
jewel, a moonstone on a deep green cloth. Where 
the stream trickled in and out of ruts and holes left 
in the muddy shore by drinking animals the water 
gleamed like scattered pearls. 

Suddenly there was a crash of breaking bamboos, 
followed by the heavy breathing of large animals 


198 


THE THREE SAPPHIRES 


and the shuffling of many feet. Then a herd of 
bison — two bulls, a few cows, and two calves — less 
cautious in their enormous strength, swept over the 
hill brow of the farther bank; there they checked 
and examined the pool. A big cow, followed by 
two others and the calves, clambered down to the 
water, and the scraping of their rough tongues 
against the crusted salt lick could be heard. One 
bull, his high wither with its massive hump and 
enormous head denoting his sex even in the transient, 
vibrating shimmers of moonlight the swaying 
branches wove into the heavy gloom, stood on guard, 
his big ears flapping from side to side to catch every 
sound of danger. The other bull, as if depending 
on the sentry, slid down the bank, took a hasty drink, 
and returned ; then the cows, with their calves, went 
up from the water, and the herd melted like shadows 
into the gloomed sal forest. 

Swinton was wide awake now; the majestic bison, 
the faithful bull on guard lest a tiger creep up on the 
calves, was a sight worth an hour or two of vigil. 

Finnerty’s head leaned toward Swinton as he whis- 
pered: “Gad! I wish I dared smoke.” Then, with 
a smothered chuckle: “If I had turned on the elec- 
tric it would have been a sight. I wonder if the cur- 
rent is on; we might need it if there’s a shindy.” 

Like an echo of the major’s whisper a sound 
floated up from the heavy pall of darkness that lay 
beneath the pipal; it might have been the sniff of a 
honey badger, the inquisitive, faint woof of a bear, 
or a muttered word. His hand resting on Swinton’s 


THE THREE SAPPHIRES 


199 


arm in a tense grip, Finnerty strained his ears to de- 
fine the curious sense he had that some one was 
stealthily moving beneath them. Once he put a hand 
on the top rung of the bamboo ladder; it vibrated 
as though some one leaned against it or had com- 
menced to ascend. He slipped the butt of his io- 
bore forward, ready for a handy, silent push of de- 
fence. But still, he thought, if it were Prince An- 
anda to meet somebody he would wait below. With 
a pang, Finnerty realised who the somebody that the 
prince must meet so secretly would be. 

A little slipping sound as of a foot higher up on 
the path came to the listeners’ ears; there was the 
tinkle-clink of a pebble rolling to the stones below; 
the rustling push of a body passing from beneath the 
pipal and along the mud bank of the pool. Then 
Finnerty saw, for a second, an outlined figure where 
the moon fell upon the pearllike cups of water; and 
the straight, athletic Rajput swing betrayed that it 
was Darna Singh. Then he was swallowed up in 
the shadow that lay heavy toward the cave. 

A cicada started his shrill piping in a neighbour- 
ing tree, awakening several of his kind, and the hiss- 
ing hum, raspingly monotonous, filled their ears. 
Suddenly it was drowned by droning English words 
that came floating up from below, smothered to in- 
distinctness. 

“It is the prince,” Finnerty thought. 

Then there were odd catches of a woman’s voice. 
Distinctly the major heard: “No, I cannot.” The 
man’s tones had a wavering drawl, as though he 


200 


THE THREE SAPPHIRES 


pleaded. More than once the word “love,” with a 
little fierce intonation, came to the listener. The 
woman had uttered words that, patched together out 
of their fragmentary hearing, told that she, or some 
one, would go away the next day. 

A low, purring note carried to the machan from 
the cave mouth. 

Turning his head cautiously, lest the machan creak, 
Finnerty, holding his eyes on the trickling stream 
where it splashed into light, dread in his heart, saw 
a shadow creep toward the pool, its progress marked 
by the blotting out of the pearllike spots of moon- 
lit water; then the shadow was lost, and next he 
heard the pushing pad of velvet paws upon the leaf- 
covered ground just beyond the pipal. Finnerty 
knew. Only a tiger or a leopard stalked like that. 
Now the approaching animal had stopped. There 
was no moving shadow, no faint rustle of leaves; 
the thing was eyeing the pool — looking for some- 
thing to kill by its brink. Below, the voices still 
droned, their owners unconscious of the yellow cat 
eyes that perhaps even then watched them in desire. 

To Finnerty came with full horror a memory of 
the Banjara’s words: “See the black leopard drink 
at the pool to-night.” 

Silently shifting his io-bore till its muzzle ranged 
the side along which the thing crept, he uncovered 
the glowworm, and a little speck of luminous light 
showed that it was still alive. 

Swinton, who sat facing the other way, feeling 


THE THREE SAPPHIRES 


201 


that there was something stirring, drew his gun 
across his knee. 

A minute, two minutes — they seemed years to Fin- 
nerty — then he heard, deeper in the jungle, a bush 
swish as if it had been pushed, and in relief he mut- 
tered: “The brute must have seen my movement and 
has gone away.” 

For a full minute of dread suspense the silence 
held, save for the rasping cicada and a droning voice 
beneath; then, from beyond where those below stood, 
some noise came out of the gloom — it might have 
been a small branch falling or the scamper of a star- 
tled jungle rat. Holding his eyes on the spot, Fin- 
nerty saw two round balls of light gleam — yellow 
green, as if tiny mirrors reflected the moonlight. 
They disappeared, then glowed again; they rose and 
fell. With a chill at his heart he knew that the beast, 
with devilish cunning, had circled, and now ap- 
proached from the side farthest from the machan, 
Swinging his gun, with a prayer that the current was 
on, he turned the electric button ; a splash of white 
light cut the jungle gloom, and where his eyes 
searched was outlined in strong relief, crouched for 
a spring, a black leopard. Turned up to the sudden 
glare, ghastly in the white light, was the face of 
Lord Victor; at his side, clutching his arm, with 
her eyes riveted on the leopard, stood Marie. 

Values flashed through Finnerty’s mind with light- 
ning speed. He had expected the jungle dweller to 
flee when the electric glare lit up the scene, but the 
leopard was unafraid; he even crept a pace closer 


202 THE THREE SAPPHIRES 

to those below. His forepaws gripped nervously at 
the ground in a churning movement; his tail stiff- 
ened; but before he could rise in a flying tackle a 
stream of red light belched from Swinton’s gun; 
there was a coughing roar telling of a hit, and 
the leopard, turned by the shot, bounded into the jun- 
gle, his crashing progress growing fainter as he fled. 
Then darkness closed out the scene of almost trag- 
edy, for Finnerty had turned the switch. 

On the point of calling in assurance, Swinton was 
checked by the sudden death of the light; he under- 
stood the major’s motive. 

The two sat still, while Finnerty, his grasp on 
Swinton’s shoulder, whispered into his ear: “The 
leopard is wounded; he won’t turn now that he has 
started to run; let them get away without knowing 
who saw them, for they’re in no danger.” 

There came the sound of feet going with stum- 
bling speed up the path as Marie, dreading discov- 
ery more than the terrors of the jungle path, clutch- 
ing Gilfain’s hand, fled. 

After a little, Finnerty said: “Fancy we may go 
back now. I wonder how much of this business the 
Banjara knew; how much of it is a twist of fate up- 
setting somebody’s plans.” And as they climbed the 
hill path from Jadoo Nala he continued: “To-mor- 
row morning we’ll follow the pugs of that black 
devil; there’ll be blood enough for the shikari to 
track him down, I think; he’ll have stiffened up from 
his wound by then and we’ll get him.” 


THE THREE SAPPHIRES MS 

With irrelevance the captain blurted, in a voice 
filled with disgust: “That young ass!” 

Finnerty laughed softly. “The dear old earl sent 
him to India to be out of the way of skirts. It can’t 
be done!” 

“But how did he get a meeting with that foolish 
virgin; he’s only been here three days! And how 
did the Banjara know, and how did — oh, one’s life 
here is a damn big query mark!” 

“I should say that there’s been a note written, 
either by the girl to his giddy lordship or vice versa ; 
Darna Singh has made the mistake of supposing 
Prince Ananda was the man she was to meet; that’s' 
why the black leopard was turned loose.” 

“Do you think it really was the prince’s beast?” 

“Yes; that’s why he didn’t run when the light 
flashed. He’s accustomed to it in the zoo grounds. 
But it was a fiendish caper, and Gilfain is fortunate.” 

“I think it proves the girl is a spy; she probably, 
at the prince’s suggestion, led the young fool on. 

I’m glad he doesn’t know anything about ” 

Swinton broke off suddenly, as the heavy gloom of 
the forest interior was brushed aside like a curtain, 
disclosing to their eyes a fairy scene — the prince’s 
palace. 

The moon, which had leaped high above the bar- 
rier of the forest, poured a flood of yellow light 
across the open plateau, gilding with gold leaf the 
mosquelike dome roof of a turret and shimmering a 
white marble minaret till it sparkled like a fretwork 
thing of silver. The Lake of the Golden Coin was 


204 THE THREE SAPPHIRES 

a maze of ribboned colours where the mahseer rose 
to its surface in play or in pursuit of night flies. A 
dreamy quiet lay over all the mass of gleaming white 
and purple shadow as they swung to the road that 
circled the gardens. Coming to the big teakwood 
gate, Finnerty clutched the captain’s arm, bringing 
him to a halt as a sigh from its rusty hinges told it 
had just been closed by some one. 

“I saw him,” Finnerty whispered as they passed 
on. “It was Ananda, I swear.” 

Over the walls floated the perfume of rose and 
jasmine and tuberose; so sensuous, so drugged the 
heavy night air that it suggested unreality, mysti- 
cism, dreams, and beyond, rounding a curve, to their 
nostrils came the pungent, acrid smell of a hookah 
from the servants’ quarters. Even deeper of the 
Orient, of the subtle duplicity of things, was this. 

Swinton spat on the roadway, and Finnerty, know- 
ing it as a token of disgust, muttered: “Ali Baba and 
the Forty Thieves.” 

As they dipped down a hill toward the path that 
led to Finnerty’s bungalow they came upon Lord 
Victor’s horse leisurely dawdling along, stopping at 
times for a juicy snack from some succulent bush, 
and altogether loafing, a broken rein dangling from 
the bit to occasionally bring him up with a jerk as he 
stepped on it. At their approach he scuttled off into 
the jungle. 

“Gilfain’s nag!” Finnerty commented. “Wishing 
to keep this meeting secret, he’s left the syce at home 


205 


THE THREE SAPPHIRES 

and tied the pony to a tree up there somewhere; the 
shot probably frightened it.” 

“What’s the horse doing on this road?” Swinton 
asked. 

“It’s a shorter cut down to the maharajah’s stables 
in Darpore town than by the tonga road. Lord Vic- 
tor will have to walk; we couldn’t catch that hare- 
brained weed even if we wanted to.” 

“Come on, major,” Swinton cried, pushing for- 
ward; “I’ve got an idea. You give me a horse and 
I’ll gallop back to my bungalow, getting there ahead 
of the young ass.” 

“I see,” Finnerty grunted as they strode swiftly 
along. “You’ll tell his lordship that you’ve been in 
bed for hours, and let him guess who was his audi- 
ence at Jadoo Pool. The Banjara didn’t deliver that 
note or his lordship wouldn’t have been there.” 

As they hurried along, Swinton panted: “Devil of 
a hole for a flirtation; he must be an enthusiast!” 

They swung into the bungalow, and Finnerty sent 
the watchman to have a syce bring “Phyu,” adding 
that if there was delay a most proper beating would 
eventuate. As the watchman hurried away on his 
mission the major said: “Phyu is a Shan pony; he’s 
only thirteen hands, but you can gallop him down 
that hill without fear of bucking his shins, and you 
couldn’t do that with an Arab.” 

While they waited, Finnerty explained: “The girl 
made that appointment for some reason. She would 
know that nobody would see them together there* 
as natives don’t travel that path at night, and she 


20 6 


THE THREE SAPPHIRES 


would know that tiger and leopard do not ordinarily 
come to the pool.” 

“How did the Banjara know?” 

“India, my dear boy — and servants; but he only 
half knew at that; he thought it would be the prince. 
I think even if Lord Victor did kill his dog, having 
been paid for it, had he known a sahib was the pro- 
posed victim he would have told us.” 

A grey, sturdy Shan pony, led by a running syce, 
dashed around the bungalow, and as Swinton 
mounted, Finnerty said: “I’ll send for Mahadua 
right away and make ready for a peep-o’-day follow- 
up of that wounded leopard; we can’t let him roam 
to kill natives. Meet me at the top of the tonga 
road at daybreak. In the meantime — well, you know 
how to handle his lordship.” 

Then the captain pounded down the mountain 
road at an unreasonable rate, though his speed was 
really unnecessary, for, clad in pajamas, he had half 
finished a long cheroot in an armchair on the ve- 
randah when he saw the form of Gilfain coming 
wearily up the gravelled road. 

When Swinton knocked the ash from his cheroot, 
disclosing the lighted end, the pedestrian acquired 
an instantaneous limp ; his rather lethargic mentality 
was quickened by an inspiration, and he hobbled up 
the steps and along the verandah at a pathetic pace. 

“Been long home, anxious guardian?” he gasped, 
sinking into a chair. 

“About an hour,” Swinton answered blithely. 


THE THREE SAPPHIRES 


207 


“I got moony lonesome,’’ Lord Victor explained, 
as the smoker evinced no curiosity. 

“And went for a walk, eh? Where did you go 
— down to the bazaar?” 

Even to Gilfain’s unperceptive mind the opening 
for a sweeping lie seemed a trifle too wide. Indeed,, 
the fact that he had on riding boots was rather 
against this proposition. He didn’t answer at once, 
a twinge in his newly injured ankle giving him an 
opportunity for a pause. 

“You didn’t see my syce about, did you?” he asked 
as a feeler. 

“No; why — weren’t you walking?” 

“No ; I went for a bit of a ride — down by the river 
— and just where the road forks over by that nala 
where we took the elephant after the tiger something 
sprang out of the jungle, let an awful roar out of 
him, and that fool country bred of mine bolted — - 
he’s a superb ass of a horse — jinked at a shadow, 
and went over a cut bank into a little stream kind of 
a place ; I came a cropper, with my foot caught in a 
stirrup, and was dragged a bit. In fact, I went by- 
by for a few minutes. How the devil my foot came 
out of the stirrup I don’t know. When I came to 
that three-toed creature they call a horse had van- 
ished, and it’s taken me rather well over an hour 
to limp back.” 

Then the cripple, holding his ankle in both hands 
across his knee, leaned back in his chair with eyes 
closed as if in agony, inwardly muttering: “Gad! I 
wonder if that bally romance hangs together.” 


208 


THE THREE SAPPHIRES 


“Was it a tiger or a leopard?” Swinton asked in 
an even voice. 

“I — I rather fancy it was a leopard. I didn’t see 
overmuch of the silly brute, my mount being in such 
an ecstasy of fright.” 

“What about the syce; perhaps the leopard nailed 
him?” the captain asked solicitously. 

“Hardly think it; I didn’t see the bloomer after I 
left the bungalow. Oh!” It was the ankle. 

This cry of pain galvanised Swinton into compas- 
sion; it also gave him an idea of how to mete out 
retribution to the awful liar beside him. 

“We’ve got to fix up that ankle right away,” he 
declared, rising. 

“Oh, don’t bother, old chap; I’ll just bathe it.” 

“Worst thing you could do,” Swinton declared 
professionally. “I’ve got a powerful white liniment; 
it stings like the juice of Hades. Probably peel the 
bark off, but it will prevent swelling.” 

With a sigh Lord Victor surrendered, and Swin- 
ton, bringing out his bottle, rubbed the romancer’s 
ankle until he groaned — not from an imaginative 
pain. Then the limb was bound up in a bandage 
that all but checked the circulation. 

“Feel better now; that give you relief?” And 
Swinton’s voice was as solicitously tender as a 
mother’s. 

“Oh, yes — thanks !” And inwardly the exasper- 
ated patient swore. 

Of course a whiskey and soda was part of the 
treatment, doctor and patient both taking the medi- 


THE THREE SAPPHIRES 209 

cine. As they sipped, the patient asked cautiously: 
“What did you and the major do in the evening?” 

“Oh, we took a stroll up on the hill.” 

“Eh, what! Oh, heavens — my ankle!” The 
guilty conscience had all but betrayed its possessor. 
“Go up to see the prince?” he asked, his voice hold- 
ing an assumed casualness. 

“We didn’t go quite that far.” Gilfain breathed 
easier. “Finnerty is a great chap on birds’ nests, 
and we saw some rather curious ones.” 

Lord Victor, in sudden inspiration, put his hand 
on Swinton’s arm and gave it a' knowing pinch. “You 
didn’t happen to meet fraulein, old boy, did you?” 
And he laughed. 

“Not bad, by Jove !” Swinton confided to himself; 
then aloud: “I’m not interested; also I’m going to 
bed. I believe I’ll take a gun early in the morning 
and see if I can pick up the tracks of that leopard.” 

“What leopard?” 

“The one that — that — charged your pony.” 

“Oh, yes, of course. But Lord bless me, man, he 
may be miles away by the morning.” 

“Come on, Gilfain; I’ll give you an arm in to bed. 
You hadn’t better get up in the morning. In fact, 
you’d better lie up all day to-morrow; in this hot 
climate a wrench like that may produce black in- 
flammation.” 

“Black inflammation sounds good, anyway,” Swin- 
ton thought as the young man, leaning heavily on his 
arm, hobbled to his bedroom. 

Swinton fell asleep pondering over the proverbial 


210 


THE THREE SAPPHIRES 


thought that no man can serve two masters, he be- 
ing that no man in his now divided duty. In the 
earl’s interests he should remove that nobleman’s 
son from the vicinity of Fraulein Marie at once. A 
most dangerous woman she was, no doubt. In the 
interest of his real master, the government, he should 
stay on the spot and nip Ananda’s intrigue. 


Chapter XV 


S WINTON had left instructions to be wakened 
before the first raucous-voiced crow had opened 
his piratical beak, so, in the chill dawn half 
light, a grey mist from the river bed still hovering 
like a shroud over the plain, the voice of his bearer 
calling softly: “Sahe-e-b! Sahe-e-b!” brought him 
out of a deep slumber. Dressing, he chuckled over 
the apocryphal sprained ankle that had relieved him 
of Lord Victor’s company or offer of it. Passing that 
young nobleman’s room, lamp in hand, he saw, 
through the open door, a very red ankle, devoid of 
its bandage, hanging over the bed. Swinton chuckled, 
muttering: “Bad patient !” 

His horse was waiting, and with a rifle across the 
saddle he went up the hill, meeting Finnerty, with 
whom was Mahadua, at the appointed place. 

“We’ll leave our gee-gees here with the syces,” 
Finnerty said, “and Mahadua will take us by a short- 
cut path along the edge of the hill to Jadoo Pool.” 

At Jadoo Pool, they rested while Mahadua, as 
keen as a “black tracker,” searched the ground for 
the leopard’s trail. 

Finnerty had imparted to the shikari nothing be- 
yond the fact that a leopard had been seen in that im- 
mediate vicinity, and it was supposed he was wound- 
ed. The shikari had declared emphatically that it 
211 


212 


THE THREE SAPPHIRES 


would prove to be the leopard with the man-eater’s 
rosettes, and, no doubt, was the animal that came out 
of the cave, giving rise to the belief that a ghost 
homed there. 

First, Mahadua passed to the plastic clay banks 
of the little stream that trickled into the pool; there 
he picked up the pugs of a leopard, following them 
unerringly to where the cunning brute had backed 
away and circled when he saw Finnerty in the 
machan. On this circling trail a stick freshly turned, 
a nestlike hollow in the loose leaves where a soft 
paw had pushed, guided the tracker, so close to in- 
stinct in his faculties, till he came upon blood spots 
and torn-up earth where the leopard had been shot. 

For twenty minutes Finnerty and Swinton waited, 
and then Mahadua came back, saying: “Chita has 
been shot in a hind leg, for his jumps in running are 
not big, and though he went to the deep jungle at first 
he is now back at the cave.” 

As they went up Jadoo Nala there were no blood 
spots on its stony bed, but Mahadua explained: 
“Chita remained hid in the jungle for a time, and the 
bleeding stopped.” 

Coming to the doorlike entrance of the cave, Fin- 
nerty peered cautiously in, and, seeing nothing, passed 
beyond, his eyes searching for tracks. A dozen paces 
and a sibilant whistle from behind whirled him about 
to see Mahadua facing the opening, his little axe 
poised for a blow of defence. 

When Finnerty, cocking both barrels of his Para- 
dox, raced back, the shikari said: “Chita stuck his 


THE THREE SAPPHIRES 


213 


head out to look at the sahib’s back, but when I 
whistled he disappeared.” 

“Was it ‘Spots’ or a black leopard, Mahadua?” 

“Black, sahib,” he answered. 

“A black leopard is the most vicious thing on 
earth,” Finnerty said in English, his gun holding 
guard, “and one wounded and in a cave is a matter 
for consideration.” 

“He won’t come out; that’s sure,” Swinton com- 
mented. 

“Not before night — if we’re here — and we can’t 
afford the time to wait that long.” 

“Smoke him out,” Swinton suggested. 

“Difficult; smoke won’t go where you want it to, 
but I’ll ask Mahadua if it’s possible.” 

“The cave is too big,” the shikari replied to the 
query. 

“How big?” Swinton asked with sudden interest. 

“I don’t know,” and the native’s eyes were eva- 
sive. “I have heard it said that the cave went far 
in, but I have no desire to go into the home of the 
spirits.” 

“My Rampore hounds would draw him,” Fin- 
nerty said thoughtfully; “but I don’t want to get 
them mauled — perhaps killed.” 

The name Rampore conveyed to Mahadua the 
sahib’s meaning, though the English words were un- 
intelligible. “The Banjara would send in dogs if 
the sahib would pay him well,” he suggested. 

“He would not risk his Banjara hounds,” the 
major objected. 


214 . 


THE THREE SAPPHIRES 


“True, huzoor, but he also has ‘bobbery* dogs — 
half Banjara breed — and they being trained to the 
hunt will go in after the wounded chita.” 

“It’s a good idea, Swinton,” Finnerty declared. 
“We’ve done the very thing I was bucking about 
last night; we’ve set adrift a wounded leopard who’ll 
likely turn man-eater if he doesn’t die and we’ll be 
responsible for every native he kills.” 

“We’ve simply got to finish him off,” Swinton 
concurred. 

“We must. If you’ll wait here with the shikari, 
keeping your eye on that hole so he doesn’t sneak 
away, I’ll pick up my horse and gallop down to get 
the Banjara and his ‘bobbery pack.’ ” 

Perhaps the going of Finnerty, with his large vir- 
ility, had taken something of mental sustenance from 
the shikari, for he now lost somewhat his buoyant 
nonchalance. 

“Sit you here, sahib, on this flat rock,” he advised, 
“for here you face well the cave door, and if the 
evil brute makes a sudden rush you will have an 
advantage. As to the dogs, if it is a bhut they will 
not enter the cave, and if they do enter it will be 
because the spirit has gone.” 

“But, Mahadua, we saw him. How will he dis- 
appear through the rock walls of a cave?” 

“As to the ways of a bhut not even the priest at 
my village of Gaum could say aught.” 

“Did you ever see a spirit, Mahadua?” Swinton 
queried, with the double purpose of whiling away 
the time as they waited and drawing from the man 


THE THREE SAPPHIRES 215 

one of those eerie tales that originate with the half- 
wild forest dwellers. 

“Sahib, I never saw my father, but there is no 
doubt that I had one ; it was said that he died before 
I was born, and I believe it.” 

“Well, did you then know of one from people you 
believed in?” 

“Yes, sahib. The priest of Gaum, which is my 
village, knew well the tiger that was named the ‘One 
Who Looks Up.’ You know, sahib, a tiger when he 
walks through the jungle never looks up at the trees, 
there being nothing there in the way of his food 
nor that he fears; though if he be shot at from a 
machan, after that, if he catches in his nostrils the 
taint of a sahib, he will remember, and will see such 
a trap.” 

“Tell me of the One Who Looks Up,” Swinton 
begged. 

“He was a man-killer, Sahib, and one day he 
killed a woodsman, but was disturbed before he had 
eaten the poor fellow, and went away, the man’s 
bhut going with him. A Dep’ty Sahib had a machan 
put in a tree above the body, and sitting there in the 
moonlight he saw bagh creeping toward his victim; 
but before the Dep’ty Sahib could shoot the dead 
man’s arm lifted up, and a finger pointed at the 
machan. Bagh looked up, and seeing the Dep’ty 
Sahib fled. 

The shikari’s voice suddenly dropped to a whis- 
per, and without the move of a muscle he said : “Look 
at the cave mouth and you will see chita watching 


216 


THE THREE SAPPHIRES 


you. Move very slow and you may get a shot/’ 

Swinton’s gun was lying across his knee, and gent- 
ly pulling back the hammers he slowly carried the 
stock toward his shoulder. As their eyes met, the 
leopard’s lip curled in a snarl that bared his hooked 
fangs, and his ears flattened back, giving the head 
a cobra-like look. Inch by inch the gun crept up- 
ward, the unblinking eyes viewing this move with 
malevolent interest. 

As the stock touched Swinton’s shoulder he 
drooped his head to train his eye along the sights, 
for the shot must go true to the small brain beneath 
that sloping skull, or, stung by the wound, the leop- 
ard would charge and there would be no escape 
from a mauling; but his eye, travelling along the bar- 
rels, looked into the dark void of the cave. In a 
brief second the cunning beast had vanished. 

“He will not return for some time, sahib; he 
knows what a gun is. Perhaps even it is a spirit,” 
the shikari said. 

Dropping the gun to his knee Swinton asked: 
“What was the end of the One Who Looks Up?” 

“The Dep’ty Sahib was a man of resource, and 
coming down he pegged to the ground both arms of 
the one whose bhut had gone with the tiger; then, 
as he waited in the machan, the tiger came back, 
thinking the sahib would have gone, and, as the 
dead man gave him no sign, crept close up, when the 
Dep’ty Sahib killed him.” 

“And you believe that story is true, Mahadua?” 


THE THREE SAPPHIRES 217 

“The guru says it is ; but whether it is true or not 
matters only to the one who is devoured.” 

For some time Mahadua sat facing the cave, turn- 
ing over in his mind a little business venture; then 
raising his head, he looked into Swinton’s dead-blue 
eyes, only to turn away in blinking haste before their 
disconcerting inertia. He coughed, adjusted his lit- 
tle brown cap, and said: “Sahib, as to this one in 
the cave we shall know when the dogs come if it is 
a spirit; but if we had made an offering to the shrine, 
or even promised Safed Jan, who guards the moun- 
tain pass, a goat in sacrifice, all might have been 
well.” 

“It is too late now,” Swinton suggested. 

“If the sahib will bestow a silver rupee for the 
sacrifice of a goat to Safed Jan, Mahadua will make 
a ceremony over the gun and the bullet will not be 
turned by the spirit.” 

Swinton smiled at this wily touch while the man’s 
master was away, but drawing forth a rupee he be- 
stowed it upon the man who had capitalised a spirit. 
Very gravely Mahadua plucked a handful of grass, 
and, wrapping the coin in this, rubbed it along the 
barrels of Swinton’s gun, tapped the locks with it, 
and then slipped the rupee into his jacket pocket, 
saying in a voice blithesome with relief — or cupidity: 
“If Safad Jan has observed, luck will follow.” 

Pariah-like yowls came up the pass, and Finnerty, 
with the herdsman and his brother holding in leash 
six dogs, appeared. The pack was a motley one, a 
canine kaleidoscope that, as it tumbled in the sun- 


218 


THE THREE SAPPHIRES 


shine, showed all the various hues of ancestry from 
red Irish terrier to mizzled collie. One had a bull- 
dog head and the lank, scraggy body of a village 
pariah; two had the powerfully boned frame of the 
Banjara hound; but all showed the uncertain, treach- 
erous temper of their pariah cross. 

Each dog was held by a rawhide leash fastened to 
a wide leather collar studded with iron spikes to 
prevent a leopard from taking his favourite jugular- 
severing jaw grip of the neck. 

As he sat down for a minute’s rest, the major said: 
“I fancy this may cost me a pretty penny for my 
friend, the herdsman, has made me agree to pay ten 
rupees for each dog killed, and five apiece for the 
mauled ones. He was deuced curious over the 
night’s work, but I told him we saw no one. He ad- 
mitted that he didn’t deliver the note to Lord Vic- 
tor, saying he had lost it.” 

“Do you think by any chance he had an inkling 
Lord Victor was going there, and didn’t want him 
to know we’d be there?” 

“No. He says we saw no one because we spoiled 
the hunt by going like a marriage procession; that 
we went by the road, and that his brother, the watch- 
man, saw Prince Ananda watching us, both going 
and coming.” 

“The sahib will have rested now, and the sun is 
hot,” the Banjara interposed. 

Finnerty, rising, placed the men; Swinton behind 
the flat boulder he had sat on, and from the top of 
which his gun would range the cave mouth; two con- 


219 


THE THREE SAPPHIRES 

venient trees were allotted to Mahadua, the herds- 
man, and his brother when the dogs had been slipped. 
Finnerty would stand on some ground a little higher 
where he could rake the nala, both up and down, 
should the leopard bolt. 

The dogs had been given a noseful of the leop- 
ard’s trail, and, when they were slipped, with a 
chorus of yelps they made for the cave, while their 
owner slipped nimbly to his allotted tree. It was 
a tense moment; the Banjara, perched on the lower 
limb of a mhowa, was avariciously hoping the leop- 
ard would kill the whole pack, for at ten rupees a 
head they were better dead. 

Mahadua’s face grew grave as, instead of the tu- 
mult of a fierce battle, stillness held within the cav- 
ern ; the eager yelps of the dogs as they had scrambled 
over lose stones to enter the cave had ceased. The 
leopard was, no doubt, a spirit, and had perhaps 
hushed the dogs. At any rate, a flesh-and-blood 
leopard would now be giving battle and voices of 
pain and passion would be filling the cavern with 
cries. 

Finnerty was muttering: “Damn if I can make it 
out; it’s a rummy go!” 

At that instant the pack came stringing out, and 
the leader stood looking wonderingly at the sahibs. 

“They are afraid,” Mahadua jeered; “they went 
in thinking it was a hare. Oh, they are a true Ban- 
jara pack!” 

The herdsman put a hand on a long knife in his 
belt, and with fury in his eyes said : “Will the Pres- 


220 


THE THREE SAPPHIRES 


ence take a slipper to this monkey’s mouth or shall 
I open its windpipe? The leopard is not within, for 
my dogs do not lie.” 

The pack was now running about in the silly, aim- 
less manner of “gaze” dogs where there is no quarry 
to see, and only a scent that is cold to their very 
dull nose-sense. 

The shikari pointed this out, saying: “Keeper of 
mud cows, if the leopard had but just passed out in 
the fear of your coming he would have left a fresh 
scent trail that even your dogs, who hunt but by the 
eye, would have found, and if the chita is not a 
spirit he is still within.” 

The Banjara drew his long, vicious knife, but as 
Finnerty grasped his arm he said, pointing in disdain 
at Mahadua : “This is a knife for game, not for 
cutting the throat of a chicken; I go into the cave to 
prove that of dog or shikari the shikari is the 
liar.” 

At this his brother also drew a knife, and, calling 
to the dogs, who sprang at his bidding to the cave, 
the two Banjaras followed at their heels. 

“We might have a look; it’s altogether myste- 
rious,” Finnerty said, turning to the captain. 

The latter nodded. “I’ve got an idea; we’d bet- 
ter go in !” 

They passed into a long, narrow chamber — so 
long that it reached into deep gloom, with no end 
wall showing. They could see the dogs pass into 
the mysterious black shadow beyond and again re- 
appear; always, going and coming, they sniffed at 


THE THREE SAPPHIRES 


m 


one spot. Here Finnerty struck a match, and Ma- 
hadua, dropping to his knees, examined the rock, 
saying: “The leopard rested here — there is blood.” 

Led by Finnerty, they followed the dogs along 
the corridor, coming upon a blank wall. There was 
no leopard; he had vanished as mystically as a spirit 
might have done. Finnerty lighted matches, but 
there were only the sullen walls on three sides. 

“It is as I have said,” the Banjara growled; “Ma- 
hadua, who has grown too old for the hunt, gave 
forth so much monkey chatter that the sahib saw not 
the leopard pass.” 

Mahadua lifted his cap. “See, hunter of cow tics, 
I take off my head-cover to thee as a great shikari. 
Sahib,” he pleaded, “turn back this owner of mon- 
grels, for I know where the chita will be found.” 

“Where?” Finnerty questioned. 

“He will go up in the hills to the village of Kohi- 
ma, where he was caught in a trap. It is said he 
killed many people near that village, for he was a 
man-eater.” 

“How far is Kohima?” 

“It is six kos, or perhaps eight, and again it might 
be that it is ten by the road, but the chita will go 
through the jungle in a matter of half that distance.” 

The Banjara laughed, clapping a cupped palm 
over his mouth, giving vent to a note of derision. 
“The little monkey has a desire in his belly, sahib,” 
he said, ceasing his popping mirth. “The women 
of Kohima are famed for the arak they distill, so 


222 


THE THREE SAPPHIRES 

Mahadua, with the sahib to pay for it, would get 
in a state to see leopards even in the village.” 

“I think we’d better get rid of this argument,” 
Finnerty remarked, adding: “Come to the bungalow 
for your pay, Lumbani.” 

Calling their dogs, the Banjara and his brother 
departed. 

“Now we’re up against a mental dead wall, cap- 
tain. What shall we do?” Finnerty asked. 

“You’d like to go after Burra Moti, of course — ” 

“Yes; but I’d rather pot this black devil. I don’t 
want any natives’ blood on my head.” 

“But we haven’t a trail to follow; I believe we’ll 
find that leopard back in his cage.” 

“Good heavens, man, he couldn’t get through the 
solid wall!” 

“But he did.” 

Finnerty blinked his eyes in unison with his rapid 
thoughts. A suspicion lingered in his mind that the 
animal had really slipped from the cave without 
Swinton seeing him — perhaps through his attention 
having been taken up by Mahadua. Indeed it was 
the only reasonable explanation of his astounding 
disappearance. With boyish diffidence he asked: 
“Did you and Mahadua do anything; that is, did 
he take up your attention with — well, he’s a garru- 
lous old cuss, especially on spirits.” 

Swinton in candour related what had occurred, and 
when he told of the rupee-gun ceremony the major, 
with a start, exclaimed: “Ah!” 

“I know what you mean by that, major,” Swinton 


THE THREE SAPPHIRES 223 

said, with a little laugh, “but I never took my eyes 
off that hole in the wall.” 

But Finnerty shook his head. “Do you know 
what they call the leopard in every mess in India? 
— ‘The Artful Dodger.’ ” Then he added hastily: 
“We’ll settle your theory first, captain. On our way 
back to have some breakfast we’ll look in at the zoo, 
and if there’s a black leopard there with a wound it 
will be the one we’re after; if there is one without a 
wound it will mean that we shot a jungle beast last 
night; if the cage is empty the brute either slipped 
your vigilance or is, as Mahadua says, a spirit.” 

The word leopard being familiar to the servant, 
he knew what the sahibs were discussing, and con- 
tributed: “Our eyes were always on the door, sahib, 
and if a spirit took the leopard through the walls he 
would lead him to Kohima, for it is said that all his 
kills were made through the aid of one he acquired 
there.” 

“Come on!” Finnerty said. “We’re in a fit condi- 
tion of mystification to almost accept the little man’s 
thesis.” 

A strange attendant was at the teakwood gate, 
but when the major explained that they simply want- 
ed a look at the animals, being sahibs, he swung the 
gate for their entrance, closing it from the inside 
to stand near them. The heavily barred cage was 
empty, and there was no movement in the den be- 
hind to which a small door gave entrance. 

“Where is the black leopard?” Finnerty asked 
quite casually. 


224 THE THREE SAPPHIRES 

A frown of reticence clouded the native’s face as 
he answered: “I don’t know, sahib.” 

With a covert movement, the major slipped into 
the man’s fingers a rupee. The gateman coughed, 
adjusted his belt, and said: “The Burra Sahib, Na- 
wab Darna Singh, sent away the man who was on 
the gate; that is why I am now here.” 

“Did the man sleep at his post?” 

“It may be that he did, sahib, and that way the 
black leopard escaped; but he was beaten by the 
rajah — no doubt he deserved it — and Nawab Darna 
Singh thinks that in anger he may have freed the 
dangerous one, for a small door was left open.” 

“And the leopard has not been seen to-day?” 

“No, sahib; but it is said he was shot, by whom or 
where I have not heard.” 

Then the two passed through the gate as mystified 
as when they entered. 

“That destroys my solution of the mystery,” Swin- 
ton declared. 

With a laugh, Finnerty said: “Mahadua has the 
only unassailable belief — that it is a spirit. But now 
for some breakfast. Our horses are just around 
the turn. We’ll slip over to my bungalow, and while 
we’re eating send down for Lord Victor.” 


Chapter XVI 


W HEN Captain Swinton and Major Finnerty 
arrived at the bungalow a note was sent to 
Lord Victor asking him to come up on horse- 
back, as they were going off into the jungle. 

Knowing that servants’ ears were animate dicta- 
phones, the two sahibs ate breakfast in comparative 
silence, the strenuous morning after the black leop- 
ard having braced their appetites. 

Later, at restful ease in big chairs, the major said: 
“In this accursed land of spies one must find a place 
where his eyes reach farther than his voice. That, 
by the way, was a trick of a clever tiger I killed, the 
Gharwalla man-eater, through discovering that when 
he had made a kill he would drag the body to a cer- 
tain bare hilltop from which he could watch for dan- 
ger. He’d been driven up to a gun so often that he 
was shy of secret places. There was something grew- 
some about that tiger’s fiendish cunning. His fav- 
ourite trick was to crouch in cover that overhung a 
roadway, and as a bullock cart came along pick off 
the driver with a flying leap and carry him to this 
hilltop for a leisurely meal. There was a pool close 
by, and, after eating, he would take a drink, roll in 
the sand, and then go quite a mile to thick cover for 
a sleep. I potted him when he was having one of 
his sand baths. You’ve seen a dog roll on a rug 
225 


226 THE THREE SAPPHIRES 

in the ecstasy of a full stomach, but with this chap 
there was something wondrously beautiful — if one 
could forget the horribleness of it — in the play of 
those terrible muscles and the undulating curves of 
the striped body as he rolled in luxurious ease, paws 
fanning the air and his ivory-studded jaws showing 
in an after dinner yawn. I watched him for ten min- 
utes, fascinated by the charm of subtle movement 
combined with strength, for I was well hidden in a 
thick growth of rose bramble, its mottled colouring 
of pink and grey and green deceiving his quick eye. 
I was lying flat, my io-bore covering him. When I 
gave a low whistle the big head faced me, and the 
eyes, hardened to a yellow-green murder look, were 
straight on. But just below the jaw was a spot with 
no hard skull to deflect the heavy, soft-lead ball, and 
behind that feathered curl of white hair was the 
motor of that powerful machine — the heart. He 
never knew what struck him. The whole cavity was 
just pulp — heart and lungs — when we skinned him.” 

A native who had come in from the jungle now 
came to the verandah. “Huzoor,” he began, “we 
knew that Burra Moti was near in the night, for Raj 
Bahadar was restless, cocking his ears and making 
soft speech through his trunk to the cunning old lady; 
but maybe on account of the camp fire, which we had 
lighted to show her that it was but a party of men 
who would eat and had sweet cakes for elephants 
who approached in a friendly spirit, she came not in. 
We could hear the bell tinkle, tinkle, tinkle ” 


THE THREE SAPPHIRES 227 

“You fool! Why do you mix lies in your report; 
the elephant had no bell.” 

Undismayed, the man answered: “The mahout 
maintained as much, sahib, but we all heard the bell, 
and Moti was in a sweet temper, for she laughed, as 
elephants do when they are pleased.” 

“It was a bird you heard — the sweet-singing sha- 
ma, or a chakwa calling to his mate across a stream. 
Did you see her?” 

“It was still dark, but we could hear Moti sigh as 
though her heart was troubled because she could 
not come to partake of the cakes we burned so that 
they would be known in her nostrils.” 

“Couldn’t come! She was free.” 

“As to a chain, it is true; but the sahib knows that 
evil attaches to things that are sacred of a temple 
when they have fallen into the hands of others.” 

“Speak!” Finnerty commanded, as the native hes- 
itated. 

“It is said — perhaps it is but a rumour of the 
bazaar — that Moti was of a temple up in the hills, 
and that in the bell was a sacred sapphire.” 

“But how came Moti to my place? Know you 
that, sage one?” 

The native dismissed the sarcasm with a salaam, 
answering: “It is said that the temple was looted 
of jewels that were buried beneath a pillar.” 

With a start, Finnerty asked : “And the stone pil- 
lar — was it taken?” And he laughed as if in de- 


rision. 


228 


THE THREE SAPPHIRES 


“I have heard that the pillar is in a new place, 
sahib.” 

“Is it in the prince’s grounds?” And Finnerty 
swept an arm toward the palace hill. 

“There is a stone standing there that did not grow 
with the roses,” the native answered enigmatically. 

“Just another move in our deranged friend’s plot,” 
Finnerty commented. He turned to the native: 
“Was the lama of the temple killed?” 

“Men who are dead do not come to the market 
place to complain, and as the priest has not spoken 
it may be that he is dead.” 

“Here comes our friend in perpetuity, the Ban- 
jara !” Finnerty exclaimed. He rose, and, going 
into the bungalow, returned to drop a rupee in the 
native’s hand, saying: “Go back to Raj Bahadar 
and tell the mahout I will be along shortly.” He 
turned to the captain. 

“Swinton, all one’s servants may know the thing 
a man is risking his life to discover and he be none 
the wiser till some one babbles it like a child.” 

“As in the mutiny,” Swinton suggested. “Our of- 
ficials saw cow dung plastered on the trees — some 
few heard what they called ‘silly whispers,’ but all 
native India knew, and all India remained hushed 
till the dead silence was shattered by the tornado.” 

“Exactly. And while we say Ananda is insane, 
and all these things are child’s play, think of the 
trifling things that were used as factors to breed that 
holocaust of hate. The Mussulmans told that the 
British Raj had greased the cartridges they had to 


THE THREE SAPPHIRES 229 

bite with pig’s fat to defile their religion; that suttee 
had been abolished to break the Hindu faith by fill- 
ing the land with widow prostitutes; that water the 
Hindu sepoys drank had come in contact with leather 
valves made from the skin of a cow. There were 
other trivial things lied into mountains of sins. An- 
anda knows all that; he has the cunning of a serpent 
and the viciousness of a black leopard.” 

The Banjara had arrived, and Finnerty counted 
out five rupees ; then, with a touch of Irish humour, 
he added another, saying, with a smile: “This for 
your disappointment in not having a dog killed.” 

“If the monkey man, Mahadua, had been true 
to his caste, which is to watch and not talk, there 
would have been profit for both sides — the sahib 
would have obtained a kill.” 

When he had tucked away his money, the Banjara 
said: “My brother is not now keeper at the tiger 
garden.” 

“Why? For whose sin does he suffer?” 

“Darna Singh let the black leopard out to meet 
Rajah Ananda at Jadoo Pool.” 

“The rajah wasn’t there,” Finnerty declared in a 
drawling way. 

“No; there was some talk that was either a lie or 
a mistake; it was another at the pool.” 

“Who?” 

“The horse of the young sahib was found on the 
hill, and the mem-sahib was seen between the pool 
and her bungalow.” 

“A ghost story, Banjara, and it’s all finished.” 


230 


THE THREE SAPPHIRES 


“A bullock that is dead is dead, but a herdsman 
watches that the other bullocks do not also die from 
the same thing.” 

“I trust you, Banjara,” Finnerty said, seemingly 
at an irrelevant angle. 

“The mem-sahib rides every day up into the hills, 
and the roads are not good for pleasure. Packets 
of cotton that have stomachs come down over the 
road; cotton grows here.” 

“What has cotton to do with the one who rides?” 

“Perhaps the mem-sahib rides to meet the one who 
comes behind the packets. My brother, who was 
the son of a Banjara priest, one who had visions that 
all the tribe believed, has also had a vision. Per- 
haps the beating caused a fever, for visions come 
thus.” 

“What saw he?” Finnerty asked, knowing that 
the herdsman had something of moment to tell in this 
way. 

“There was a full moon in the sky, and by its 
light he saw a rajah, and the rajah had many guns 
and soldiers — even sahibs as soldiers — and he was 
driving out the English. And the guns were hidden 
behind bales of cotton.” 

“Is that all?” Finnerty asked, for the herdsman 
had stopped. 

“My brother woke at that point, huzoor, and his 
eyes fell upon a mhowa tree in full bloom.” 

“Which means that the mhowa is in bloom now?” 

“Of the interpreting of visions I know nothing,, 
but it might be that way.” 


THE THREE SAPPHIRES 


231 


The Banjara now departed, and Swinton said: 
“Do you remember Prince Ananda saying that if a 
holy man stood by the Lake of the Golden Coin in 
the full of the moon, when the mhowa was in bloom, 
having the three sacred sapphires, he would see the 
dead king rise in his golden boat?” 

“Yes, and this cowherd’s chatter means an upris- 
ing soon. I hear hoofs; that will be Lord Victor. 
Are we going to accuse him of being at the pool?” 

“I think not. We know as much now as we shall 
if we question him. But we’ll keep him with us; a 
young ass like that isn’t safe without a keeper — he’s 
no match for as clever a traitor as this girl.” 

Finnerty’s chair groaned as though it had re- 
ceived a twist from his big frame, but his voice was 
devoid of protest: “I can’t make the girl out. My 
mind is in a psychological state, and I suppose I’m 
influenced by the apparent candour in her eyes. They 
seem to express trouble, too, as if she were searching 
for a moral finger post, for a way out of darkness.” 
Then the major expressed an apologetic phrase : “I’m 
afraid I’m a bit awkward at psychology; jungle 
dwellers are more in my line.” 

Swinton put his hand on the big man’s shoulder. 
“My dear major, I wish I’d had a brother like you. 
My family was baked in the crucible of government 
service for generations; we’re executive automatons.” 

“I understand; you’re an Englishman — Damn it! 
I mean, in youth you never roamed the hills like 
shaggy-haired colts as we do in Ireland.” 

“If I had I wouldn’t have made a good Raj po- 


THE THREE SAPPHIRES 


liceman. But to hark back. The German machine, 
more soulless than our own, knows the value of 
Mona Lisa eyes, and Marie was probably picked for 
this delicate mission for the very quality that has 
won your sympathy — her appealing womanhood.” 

“And yet my perhaps sympathy for the girl was 
birthed by accident, not design on her part.” 

“What is an attractive girl doing here so close to 
Prince Ananda? Why is she here with a Prussian 
who is an enemy of the British Raj? Why is she 
averse to being approached? What is she searching 
for in the hills? It’s the road to China, and guns 
have already arrived, according to our Banjara.” 

“I haven’t an answer for any one of your queries, 
captain, but we must investigate those packets.” 

Lord Victor arrived now, and as he had not yet 
seen the skin of Pundit Bagh he was taken to where 
it was pegged out on the ground and being rubbed 
with ashes and alum. This kill of a tiger was prob- 
ably the first incident in his life calculated to raise 
elation in the hearts of his friends. 

“Something to tack to, eh?” he cried joyfully. 
“Fancy I hear the chaps in fluffy old London saying 
as I pass, ‘That’s the man that shot a big man-eater 
on foot.’ No swank to that, major, for I did. You 
know that dicky little chapel dedicated to the tiger 
god?” 

“Yes; the one down in the plain.” 

“It’s simply buried under devotee bric-a-brac this 
morning. They should have a sign up ‘Wet Paint,’ 
for it’s gory blood red. When I came along a fat 


THE THREE SAPPHIRES 


233 


black man, rolled in white muslin, cursed me — abso- 
lutely bowled at my wicket with a ball of brimstone. 
Now what do you make of that, major? It wasn’t 
about the cow dog, for the bounder had one English 
word, ‘tiger,’ which he simply sprayed his lingo with.” 

Mahadua had come to accompany the party, and, 
somewhat perplexed, Finnerty turned to the shikari 
for an explanation. 

“Yes, sahib,” Mahadua said, “Pundit Bagh was a 
jungle god, and they are making prayer to the 
shrine so that the spirit may return again as a tiger 
to protect them from such as the black leopard.” 

Finnerty interpreted: “They feel that you have 
slain one who defended them against leopards and 
pig and deer that ate their crops.” 

“Oh, I say! Sort of a gentleman burglar who 
did not murder his victims.” 

The shikari explained that the man who had vis- 
ited verbal wrath upon Lord Victor was a money 
lender who lent money at a high rate to the farmers 
to buy bullocks when the tiger had killed their plough 
beasts, so he was angry at this loss of revenue. He 
also said that some one was telling the natives that 
the sahibs were trying to destroy their religion by 
killing their jungle gods. 

“Who tells them this?” Finnerty asked. 

The shikari answered evasively: “This is not my 
country, so they do not tell me what is in the hidden 
room.” 


Chapter XVII 

M AJOR FINNERTY had made arrangements 
for a full day after Burra Moti. Coolies 
had been sent on with provisions in round 
wicker baskets slung from a bamboo yoke, and soon 
the three sahibs started. 

Perhaps it was the absence of immediate haste, a 
lack of pressing action, that allowed their minds to 
rest on their surroundings. Really, though, it was 
Lord Victor who drew them to a recognition of their 
arboreal surroundings with: “I say! Look at that 
bonfire — but it’s glorious !” his riding whip indicating 
a gold mohur tree that, clothed in its gorgeous spring 
mantle of vivid red bloom, suggested its native name 
of “Forest on Fire.” 

“Yes,” Finnerty said, “it seems to add to the heat 
of the sun, and, as if that weren’t enough, listen to 
that damn cuckoo, the ‘brain-fever bird,’ vocal in his 
knowledge that we’ll soon be frying in Hades.” 

The bird of fiendish iteration squeaked: “Fee-e-e- 
ver, fee-e-e-ver, fee-e-e-ver !” till he came to a startled 
hush, as, with noisy cackle, a woodpecker, all golden 
beak and red crest atop his black-and-white waist- 
coat, shot from the delicate green foliage. 

“It’s a land of gorgeous colouring,” Finnerty com- 
mented; “trees and birds alike.” 

“Minus the scent and song,” Swinton added as a 
234 


THE THREE SAPPHIRES 


% 35 


hornbill opened his yellow coffin beak to screech in 
jarring discord. 

But just when they had passed the sweet-scented 
neem, and then a kautchnor standing like some giant 
artificial wooden thing decorated with creamy white- 
and pink-petaled lilies, Finnerty drew rein, holding 
up his hand, and to their ears floated from a tangle 
of babool the sweet song of a shama. It was like 
the limpid carolling of a nightingale in a hedge at 
home; it bred a hunger of England in Lord Victor’s 
boy heart. When the song hushed, as they passed 
the babool Finnerty pointed to a little long-tailed 
bird with dull red stomach, and the youth, lifting his 
helmet, exclaimed, “You topping old bird! I’d back 
you against a lark.” 

Perhaps India, populous with bird and animal life 
as well as human, was always as much on parade as 
it seemed this morning, and that they now but ob- 
served closer. At any rate, as they left the richer- 
garbed foothills for the heavier sombreness of the 
forest, their eyes were caught by the antics of a 
black-plumaged bird who had seized the rudder of 
a magpie and was being towed along by that squawk- 
ing, frightened mischief-maker. 

With a chuckle, Finnerty explained: “He’s a king 
crow, known to all as the ‘police wallah,’ for he’s 
eternally putting others to rights. That ‘pie’ has 
been looting some nest, and the king crow is driving 
him over into the next county.” 

Like a gateway between the land of the living and 
the land of beyond, its giant white limbs weird as 


236 


THE THREE SAPPHIRES 


the arms of a devil-fish, reaching through glossy 
leaves to almost touch a wall of sal, stood a pipal, 
its wide-spreading roots, daubed with red paint, nurs- 
ing a clay idol that sat amid pots of honey, and 
sweet cakes, and gaudy tinsel, and little streamers 
of coloured cloth — all tribute to the god of the sacred 
wild fig. Beyond this they were in a cool forest; 
above, high against a blue sky, the purple haze of the 
sal bloom, their advent sending a grey-backed fat 
little dweller scuttling away on his short legs. 

“ A badger!” Lord Victor cried eagerly. 

“Kidio, the grave digger, as our natives call him,” 
Finnerty added. “Even that chubby little cuss is 
enlarged mythologically.” He turned to Mahadua, 
and in answer to a question the latter, drawing up 
to the Major’s stirrup, said: “Yes, sahib, the ghor 
kidio comes up out of the Place of Terrors on dark 
nights and carries away women and children. Near 
my village, which is Gaum, one lived in the hills so 
close that he was called the ‘Dweller at the Hearth.’ 
A sahib who made a hunt of a month there broke the 
evil spell by some manner of means, for the great 
grave digger was never seen again.” 

“Shot him?” Finnerty asked seriously. 

“No, sahib, else he would have had pride in show- 
ing the one.” Then Mahadua dropped back well 
satisfied with the pleasure of converse with the sa- 
hibs. 

Screened from the sun’s glare, but warming to 
his generous heat, the forest held an indescribable 
perfume — the nutty, delicious air which, drawn into 


THE THREE SAPPHIRES 


237 


expanded lungs, fills one with holy calm, with the 
delight of being, of living, and so they rode in silent 
ecstasy, wrapped in the mystic charm of the Creator’s 
work. 

An hour of travel and they met a party of Fin- 
nerty’s men carrying one of their number slung from 
a bamboo pole. He had been mauled by the black 
leopard. The story was soon told. The whole par- 
ty with Bahadar had moved forward on Moti’s trail, 
stopping when they felt she was near, the men spread- 
ing out with the object of bringing her in. In one 
of these encircling movements they had surrounded, 
without knowing it, the black leopard, and, in break- 
ing through, the vicious animal had mauled one so 
that he would probably die. 

The shikari, after he had asked the locality of 
this encounter, said: “It is toward Kohima.” 

“This shows that he is not a spirit, Mahadua; 
that he hasn’t dissolved into air.” 

“Still, sahib, a spirit, leopard or tiger, can always 
change back.” 

“It proves to me,” Swinton declared, “that there’s 
an exit to that cave which we did not discover.” 

They had forgotten Lord Victor’s presence, but 
the young man said blithely: “I say, I heard you 
two Johnnies had gone out after a leopard this morn- 
ing. What luck?” 

“He got away; he’s just mauled this man. And 
it means” — Finnerty turned and faced Swinton — • 
“that we’ve got to follow him up.” 

Finnerty’s voice had scarcely ceased when the 


238 THE THREE SAPPHIRES 

trumpeting of an elephant, loud and shrill, sounded 
ahead. “That’s Raj Bahadar,” Finnerty declared. 
“I expect Moti has come back with another wallop- 
mg. 

They urged their horses, and came to where the 
party had camped through the night, a fresh trail 
showing that the men had moved on. Following 
this, they came within hearing of human voices, high- 
pitched in a babel of commands and exhortations and 
calls, drowned at times by the trumpet of Bahadar. 
Emerging from a thick clump of trees, they could see 
the natives darting and hopping about something 
that looked like the top of a submarine emerging 
from the waters. 

“Bahadar has fallen into a pit,” Finnerty declared. 

Before the three sahibs reached Bahadar there 
was an encouraging “phrut, phrut” from beyond, 
and Moti’s gleaming tusks showed through the jun- 
gle ; and then the old lady herself halted just beyond 
the pit for a brief survey, as if to make sure that it 
wasn’t a game to trap her. Then she advanced 
gingerly, feeling the ground, and thrust out her trunk 
for Bahadar to grasp with his. The natives saw that 
Moti had come to help Bahadar and not to belabour 
him. With sticks and jungle axes some of them 
started to tear down to a slope the end wall of the 
pit, while the others gathered sticks and branches 
and threw them beneath the trapped elephant as a 
gradually rising stage. 

Finnerty dismounted, and, calling a man, said: 
“While Moti is busy noose both her hind legs, leav- 


THE THREE SAPPHIRES 


239 


ing the ropes in the hands of men so that she will 
not find the strain, and when Bahadar is out fasten 
them quickly around trees.” 

Moti was for all the world like the “anchor man” 
on a tug-of-war team. Clasping the bull elephant’s 
trunk in a close hitch, she leaned her great bulk back 
and pulled with little grunts of encouragement. Ba- 
hadar soon was able to catch his big toes in the partly 
broken bank, and helped the natives in its levelling. 

At last he was out, and seeming to recognise what 
Moti had done, was rubbing his trunk over her fore- 
head and blowing little whiffs of endearment into 
her ears, while she stood warily watching the puny 
creatures who kept beyond reach of a sudden throw 
of her trunk. 

A native with a noose, watching his chance, darted 
in and slipped it over a forefoot, and Moti, in a 
second, was moored, fore and aft, to strong trees. 
Either in a cunning wait or from a feeling of resig- 
nation to fate, she put up no fight beyond a querulous 
“phrump, phrump!” as if she would say: “My re- 
ward, you traitors!” 

Bahadar was cut about the legs, for the pit, being 
an elephant trap dug by Nagas who captured ele- 
phants for their meat and ivory, was studded with 
upright bamboo spears, and, unlike the local pits 
with their sloped sides, its walls were perpendicular 
to its full depth of ten feet. 

“Tell me why you left the main trail, and how 
Bahadar stepped into this pit?” Finnerty demanded 
of Gothya, the mahout. 


MO 


THE THREE SAPPHIRES 


“We heard the bell, sahib ” 

“Fool!” and Finnerty pointed to Mod’s neck, on 
which was nothing. 

“We all heard it, sahib, and some talk between a 
voice and Moti, who would answer back ‘E-e-eu-eu — 
phrut! E-e-eu-eu — phrut!’ as though she were say- 
ing, ‘Wait, brother!’ No doubt, sahib, it was a jungle 
spirit that was drawing Moti along for our destruc- 
tion, for, as we followed this old Naga trail, Baha- 
dar suddenly went through the covering of leaves 
and dead limbs that was over the pit.” 

It was now past noon, and Finnerty said: “We’ll 
have tiffin, a rest-up, and, with Mahadua, make a 
wide cast toward the hills to see if we can pick up 
tracks of the leopard; he’s both ugly and hungry, so 
will do something to betray himself. We’ll leave 
Moti here with the party — the tie-up will quiet her — 
until we return.” 

A leg chain was fastened from one of Mod’s front 
feet to a hind foot, which would shorten her stride 
should it so happen that by any chance she broke 
away again. 


PART FOUR 


PART FOUR 


Chapter XVIII 

M AHADUA, the hunter guide, led the three 
sahibs always in the direction of Kohima, 
sometimes finding a few pugs in soft earth. 
About three o’clock two natives overtook them, their 
general blown condition suggesting that their mis- 
sion was urgent 

“I am Nathu, the shikari,” one said, “and the 
Debta of Kohima has sent for the sahib to come and 
destroy a black leopard who has made the kill of a 
woman, for my gun — that is but a muzzle-loader — is 
broken. It is the man-eater who was taken from 
Kohima by the rajah, and is now back; he has cun- 
ning, for a spirit goes with him, sahib. Three wo- 
men were drying mhowa blooms in the sun, and they 
sat up in a machan to frighten away jungle pig and 
deer who eat these flowers; perhaps they slept, for 
there was no outcry till the leopard crawled up in 
the machan and took the fat one by the throat and 
carried her off.” 

“How far is Kohima?” Finnerty asked. 

“It is but a few hours’ ride. But if the sahib 
comes he will find the leopard at sunset, for he will 
come to where the body of the fat woman lies on a 
hill. Now in the daylight men with spears are keep- 
243 


244 THE THREE SAPPHIRES 

mg him away till I bring the sahib for the kill. The 
sahibs can ride to Kohima, for there is a path.” 

When they arrived at Kohima, the village sat 
under a pall of dread, and their advent was hailed 
with delight. An old woman bent her forehead to 
Finnerty’s stirrup, wailing: “Sahib, it is the daughter 
of Sansya who has been taken, and an evil curse rests 
over my house, for before, by this same black devil, 
was taken a son.” 

“We’ll get busy because night will soon be upon 
us,” Finnerty said to his companions. 

They were led on foot to an almost bare plateau, 
and Nathu, pointing to the spearsmen fifty yards 
ahead, said: “The body is there, sahib, and as the 
sun goes behind the hills the leopard will come back 
to eat. He is watching us from some place, for 
this is his way. Here he can see without being seen.” 

They beheld a grewsome sight — the body of the 
slain woman. 

“This black devil has the same trick of devouring 
his kill in the open as the Gharwalla man-eater had,” 
Finnerty declared; “but I see no cover for a shot.” 
He gazed disconsolately over the stony plateau with 
neither rock nor tree breaking its surface. “There is 
no cover,” he said to Mahadua, and when the shi- 
kari repeated this to Nathu, the latter answered: 
“ There is cover for the sahib,” pointing to a^thick 
clump of aloe with swordlike leaves, twenty yards 
away. “My men will cut the heart out of that so 
that the sahib may rest within. Even if the beast 


THE THREE SAPPHIRES 


245 


is wounded he will not be foolish enough to thrust 
his body against those spears.” 

Nathu spoke, and two men came forward from a 
group that had lingered back on the path, and with 
sharp knives lashed to bamboo handles cut an en- 
trance and a small chamber in the aloe. 

Finnerty laughed. “That is a new one on me, 
but it will probably deceive even that black devil; 
he would notice anything new here the size of a 
cricket bat.” 

“Huzoor,” Nathu advised, “the leopard is watch- 
ing us from some place, but, cunning as he is, he can- 
not count; so, while we are all here, the one who is 
to make the kill will slip into the machan and we 
will go away, leaving the woman who is now dead 
beyond doubt. And as to his scent, sahib, I have 
brought a medicine of strong smell that all of his 
kind like, and I have put some where the woman 
lies and within the aloe machan, so his nose will not 
give him knowledge of the sahib’s presence.” 

“It is your game, Lord Victor,” Finnerty said. 
“We’ll go in a body to the aloe, and you, taking my 
io-bore, slip quickly into your cubby-hole. Squat 
inside as comfortably as you can, with your gun 
trained absolutely on the body, and wait till the leop- 
ard is lined dead with your sights; don’t move to get 
a bead on him or he’ll twig you.” 

Nathu followed the sahibs, dropping on their 
trail from a bison horn a liquid that had been de- 
cocted from the glands of an otter for the oblitera- 
tion of the sahib scent; the taint of natives would 


246 


THE THREE SAPPHIRES 


not alarm the leopard, experience having taught him 
that when he charged they fled. 

As Gilfain sat behind the sabre-leafed wall of aloe ' 
he bent down a strong-fibred shoot to obtain a good 
rest for the heavy io-bore, and an opening that gave 
him a view of the dead body of the woman. Beyond 
the plateau the jungle, fading from emerald green, 
through purple, to sable gloom as the sun slid down 
behind a western hill, took on an enshroudment of 
mystery. A peacock, from high in a tamarisk that 
was fast folding its shutter leaves for the night, called 
discordantly. A high-shouldered hyena slouched in 
a prowling semicircle back and forth beyond the kill, 
his ugly snout picking from the faint breeze its story 
of many scents. Closer and closer the hyena drew 
in his shuffling trot, till suddenly, with head thrown 
up as if something had carried to his ear, he stood a 
carved image of disgusting contour against a gold- 
tinted sky shot with streamers of red. Then, with a 
shrunken cringe of fear, he slipped away and was 
gone. 

From the jungle something like a patch of its own 
gloom came out upon the blurred plateau. As the 
thing turned to sweep along the jungle edge the fad- 
ing sky light glinted on two moonstones that were set 
in its shadowy form. 

The watcher now knew what it was. His heart 
raced like a motor. At the base of his skull the 
tightening scalp pricked as though an etcher were 
at work. His tongue moistened parchment-dry lips. 
His fingers beat a tattoo upon the triggers of the 


THE THREE SAPPHIRES 247 

gun. It was not fear; it was just “It,” the sensation 
that comes to all. 

More wily even than the ghoulish hyena, the leop- 
ard worked his way toward the spot of his desire. 
Belly to earth, he glided for yards; then he would 
crouch, just a darkening patch on the surface; some- 
times he sat up — a black boulder. Thirty yards 
across from the body, he passed beyond it to catch 
in his nostrils the gently stirring wind that sifted 
through the aloe blades to where, once more flat to 
earth, he waited while his sixth sense tabulated the 
taints. 

Lord Victor’s eye, trained along the barrels, saw 
nothing definite; he felt a darkening of the ground 
where the woman lay, but no form grew in outlines. 
Suddenly there was a glint of light as if from a glow- 
worm ; that must be the leopard’s eyes. Then — Gil- 
fain must have moved his gun — there was the gleam 
of white teeth fair in line with the sights as the leop- 
ard snarled with lifted head. 

Inspiration pulled the triggers — once, twice ! The 
gun’s roar was followed by the coughing growl of 
the writhing leopard. With a dulled, automatic 
movement the man jammed two cartridges into the 
gun, and with foolish neglect of sense scrambled 
from his cage, the razor edge of an aloe leaf slitting 
his cheek, and ran to where, beside the woman’s 
body, lay dead the one who had slain her. 

An instinct rather than reason flashed across Gil- 
fain’s still floating mind, a memory of Finnerty’s 
precaution at the death of Pundit Bagh, and, hold- 


248 


THE THREE SAPPHIRES 


ing both barrels cocked, he prodded the still twitch- 
ing black body; but, now released from trivial things, 
the leopard lay oblivious of this. 

Torches flickered in wavy lines where the village 
path topped the plateau, and a crunch of hurrying 
feet was heard. To reassure them Lord Victor cried 
a cheery, “Hello! Whoop-ah!” 

When Finnerty and Swinton arrived at the head 
of a streaming procession a soft glow of satisfied 
victory loosened Gilfain’s tautened nerves, and he 
babbled of the joy of slaying man-eaters till cut short 
by the major’s: “Well, this act is finished, so we’ll 
get back.” 

Mahadua was already busy. The leopard was 
quickly triced to a pole, and they were back in 
Kohima. Then there was ritual, for the hillmen of 
the jungle have their ways, and the killing of a man- 
eater is not of daily habit, and Mahadua, knowing 
all these things, had to collect a levy. 

The slain one was deposited in front of the debta’s 
house, and Mahadua, with some fantastic gyrations 
supposed to be a dance, collected a rupee from the 
headman, also from the villagers flour and ghee and 
honey, for that was the custom when a man-eater 
was slain. 

Six strong carriers, each armed with a torch, were 
supplied by the debta to bear the trophy, slung from 
a bamboo, down to the next village, which was Mayo 
Thana. 

For the sahibs milk and rice cakes and honey were 
supplied, and their praises sounded as demigods. 



“THE GRAY stallion’s THUNDER ' G GALLOP ALL BUT DROWNING 
THE BLASPHEMOUS REPROACH THAT ISSUED FROM SWINTON’S LIPS.’’ 


See pzge 267 

























i 





















i 





















































































. I 












THE THREE SAPPHIRES 


219 

Lord Victor, as he sat on a block of wood that was 
a grain mortar, found his knees in the thin, bony 
arms of an old woman whose tears of gratitude 
splashed upon the hand with which he patted her 
arm. She was Sansya, the slain woman’s mother. 

As they left Kohima, the carriers waving their 
torches in rhythmic lines of light, the leader sent his 
powerful voice echoing down the slopes in a propi- 
tiatory song to the god of the hills, which also con- 
veyed an order to Mayo Thana to prepare a relay 
of bearers. 

Weirdly mystic the torch-lighted scene, the leader’s 
voice intoning the first line, and the others furnishing 
the chorus as they sang: 

“God of our H3Is! 

Ho-ho, ho-ho! 

The leopard is slain 1 

Ho-ho, ho-ho! 

To thee our praise! 

Ho-ho, ho-ho!” 

To the flowing cadence of this refrain the six bear- 
ers of the leopard trotted down the mountain path 
in rhythmic swing. 

At Mayo Thana, a mile down, and at Mandi, half 
a mile beyond, thrifty Mahadua collected his tithe as 
master of the hunt, and obtained torchbearers, the 
lot from Mandi having the task of shouldering the 
burden till the elephant party was reached. 

For an hour they travelled among heavy-bodied 
creepers and massive trees when, through the solemn 
stillness, echoed the far-off tinkle of a bell. Without 


250 


THE THREE SAPPHIRES 


command, Mahadua stood silently in the path, his 
head turned to listen. Five seconds, ten seconds — 
the sahibs sitting their saddles as silent as their guide, 
and again, now unmistakable, to their ears floated 
the soft note that Finnerty had likened to the clink 
of ice in a glass. 

Mahadua, holding up his torch so that its light 
fell upon Finnerty’s face, turned his eyes question- 
ingly. 

“It is Moti’s bell?” Finnerty said, query in his 
voice. 

“Yes, sahib; but it is not on Moti’s neck, because 
it would not just speak and then remain silent, and 
then speak and then remain silent, for in the jungle 
her pace would keep it at tongue all the time.” 

Then, listening, they waited. Again they heard 
it, and again there was silence. 

“Easy, easy!” Finnerty commanded, and, moving 
with less speed than before, they followed Mahadua. 

As they came to a break in the forest where some 
hills had burst through its gloomed shroud to lift 
their rocky crests into the silver moonlight, Finnerty 
heard, nearer now, the bell, and, startled by its un- 
familiar note, a jackal, sitting on his haunches on 
the hilltop, his form outlined against the moonlit 
sky, threw up his head to send out a faint, tremulous 
cry. The plaintive wail was caught up as it died 
away by another jackal, and then another — they 
were like sentinels calling from posts in a vast semi- 
circle; then with a crashing crescendo of screaming 


THE THREE SAPPHIRES 


251 


yelps all broke into a rippling clamour that suggested 
they fled in a pack. 

“Charming !” Lord Victor commented. “Topping 
chorus!” 

In the hush that followed this jackal din, Finnerty 
could hear the tinkling bell. “Does it come up this 
path?” he asked the shikari. 

“Yes, sahib, and I thought I heard Moti laugh.” 

The major turned to Swinton. “I’ve got a pre- 
sentiment that somebody — probably the man that 
stuck a knife into Baboo Dass’ thief — having the 
bell, has got Moti away from my fellows and is 
leading her up this path to the hills. I’m going to 
wing him.” He slipped from the saddle, his io-bore 
in hand. “Of course, if I can get my clutches on 

him ” He broke off to arrange action. “Put 

out the torch, Mahadua, and have your match box 
ready to light it in a second. You two chaps had bet- 
ter turn your horses over to the syces. With Ma- 
hadua I’ll keep in advance.” 

Mahadua, putting his little hand up against Fin- 
nerty’s chest, checked at a faint, rustling, grinding 
sound that was like the passing of sandpaper over 
wood. Finnerty, too, heard it. Perhaps a leopard 
had forestalled them in waylaying the one who had 
signalled his approach ; or perhaps the one had stilled 
the telltale sapphire tongue, and was near. No, it 
tinkled, a score or more yards beyond. The shikari’s 
hand clutched spasmodically in a steadying grip of 
Finnerty’s coat; there was a half-stifled gasp from 


252 THE THREE SAPPHIRES 

its owner as two lurid eyes weaved back and forth 
in the black depths in which the path was lost. 

Finnerty’s iron nerve went slack; his boy days of 
banshee stories flooded his mind in a superstitious 
wave as those devilish eyes hovered menacingly ten 
feet from the ground. 

“A spirit I” Mahadua gasped as he crawled his 
way behind the major. 

“Tinkle, tinkle, tinkle!” The sound came just 
below where the eyes had gleamed; then a smother- 
ing cry — the crunching, slipping sound of sandpaper 
on wood; a rapid clatter of the bell; a noise like the 
hiss of escaping steam mingled with the crunch of 
breaking bones ; and again the gleaming eyes cut the 
darkness in sinuous convolutions. 

A gasp — a cry of: “Gad, what is it?” came from 
behind Finnerty, and beyond there was a heavy 
thud, the clatter of a bamboo pole, as, with cries of 
horror, the men of Mandi dropped their burden 
and fled, gasping to each other: “It is the goblin of 
the Place of Terrors, and if we look upon his eyes 
we shall become mad!” 

In front of Finnerty the jungle was being rent 
asunder. With a wild trumpet note of battle, drawn 
by the bell clangor, an elephant crashed through im- 
peding limbs and seized the evil-eyed goblin. 

“A light!” Finnerty grabbed the torch, and as 
it flared to a match that trembled in Mahadua’s 
fingers he thrust it back into the guide’s hand, cocking 
the hammers of his io-bore. 

The resined-torch flare picked out against the grey 


THE THREE SAPPHIRES 


253 


of Moti’s neck a white-and-black necklace, the end 
of which was wound about a swaying vine, and in 
the coils, drawn flat like an empty bag, was a man 
from whose neck dangled a clanging bell. 

“A python!” Finnerty cried as he darted forward 
to get a shot at the wide-jawed head that, swaying 
back and forth, struck viciously with its hammer nose 
at Moti’s eyes. 

The jungle echoed with a turmoil that killed their 
voices; the shrill, trumpet notes of Burra Moti had 
roused the forest dwellers; a leopard, somewhere up 
in the hills, answered the defiant roars; black-faced 
monkeys, awakened by the din, filled the branches of 
a giant sal and screamed in anger. 

Great as was the elephant’s strength, she could 
not break the python’s deadly clasp; she was like 
a tarpon that fights a bending rod and running reel, 
for the creeper swayed, and the elastic coils slipped 
and held and gave and gathered back, until its chok- 
ing strength brought her to her knees. 

For a second the serpent’s head was clear — a yard 
above, and the io-bore spat its lead fair into the 
yawning mouth. The coils slipped to looseness; the 
big elephant neck drew in the cooling air, and Moti, 
wise as a human, knew that she was saved. A grunt 
of relief rippled weakly from her trunk, and Fin- 
nerty, slipping up as she lay still bound in the 
python’s folds, patted her on the forehead and let 
her hear his voice. 

“Put the bell on her, sahib,” Mahadua advised, 
“for now that she is tired she will be at peace.” 


254 


THE THREE SAPPHIRES 


Mahadua’s call to the carriers was answered far 
down the trail; but reassured by his cry of, “The 
big snake is dead!” they came back. More torches 
were lighted, their flickering glare completing a real- 
istic inferno. 

Down on her bended legs like a huge, elephant- 
faced god, a dead man, clad in the snuff-coloured 
robe of a priest, laced to her neck by the python 
coils and surrounded by black-skinned torch-bearers, 
Moti might well have been taken for some jungle 
fetish. 

The men of Mandi carried little axes in their belts, 
and with these the serpent cable was cut and un- 
coiled. He was a gigantic l ute, thirty feet long 
and thicker than a man’s thigh. The mottled skin, 
a marvellous pattern of silver and gold and black, 
looked as though nature had hung out an embel- 
lished sign of “Beware!” Or, perhaps, mothering 
each of its kind, had, with painstaking care, here 
limned a deceiving screen like the play of sunlight 
or moonlight through leaves on the dark limb of a 
tree. 

As the priest’s limp body flopped to earth a jade^ 
handled knife fell from a leather girdle. Swinton 
picked it up, saying: “This is familiar, major.” 

“There are two of them,” Finnerty answered, 
stooping to reach another that still rested in its 
sheath. 

The strap that held the sapphire bell, wound twice 
around the priest’s shoulders, was evidently intended 
for Moti’s neck, and with a continuous stream of 


THE THREE SAPPHIRES 


255 


low-voiced endearments, Finnerty buckled it to place. 

Touching the iron chain that still held in its stride- 
shortening grip Moti’s legs, Finnerty said: “That’s 
why they came along at such a slow pace, and it will 
help us shoo the old girl back; she’ll know that she 
can’t cut up any didos.” 

Mahadua, though he didn’t understand the Eng- 
lish, realising something of this, said: “Sahib, Moti 
will be like a woman that has had her cry of pas- 
sion; she will now bear with her friends. I will go 
in the lead with a torch, and if the sahib will spare 
one of the bridle reins, holding an end and allowing 
Moti to take the other end in her fingers as she might 
the tail of an elephant, she will follow the horse.” 

It was soon arranged thus. At a word from Fin- 
nerty, Moti lumbered heavily to her feet, while he 
stood with uplifted whip, ready to cut a stinging 
blow to her trunk should she show signs of temper. 
Quite understanding this threat, Moti gently thrust 
her trunk toward the major’s face and fumbled his 
chin with her thumb and finger as though she would 
say: “I know a friend when I find him.” 

As they neared the elephant encampment, Moti, 
catching the sound of Rahadar’s ears fanning flies, 
rumbled a soft message of peace; but there was no 
expected noise of greeting from the natives, no 
bustle of sleepers rising to greet the sahibs. They 
came right into the camp before some of the men, 
who had slept with their heads rolled in the folds 
of turbans or loin cloths, sat up groggily or struggled 
to incapable feet. The mahout reeled up from some- 


<856 THE THREE SAPPHIRES 

where near Bahadar and salaamed drunkenly, a fool- 
ish, deprecating leer on his lips. 

The sight of Moti partly sobered him, and his 
mind caught up the blurred happenings of the night. 
a An evil spirit, sahib,” he babbled, “caused us to 
fall heavy in sleep, and we were wakened by the 
breaking of the rawhide nooses that bound Moti; 
then she fled to the jungle.” 

“This fool is drunk!” Mahadua declared angrily. 
“If the sahib will beat him with a whip he will tell 
who brought the arak.” 

Gothya repudiated Mahadua’s assertion, but a 
firm tap of the riding whip on his buttocks, with 
threats of more, gradually brought out the story 
of their debauch. A party of native liquor runners, 
men who smuggled arak across the line from Nepal, 
had stumbled upon the party and had driven a thriv- 
ing trade. 

“That accounts largely for the stealing of Moti,” 
Finnerty declared. He had in his hand the rawhide 
noose, showing that it had been cut close to the ele- 
phant’s leg. Evidently the priest had been able to 
crawl right in to the camp, the drunkards having 
let their fire die. 

The mahout, salaaming, said: “Sahib, the jungle 
is possessed of evil gods to-night. Just when it was 
growing dark we saw passing on a white horse the 
one who gallops at night to destroy.” 

“Was that before you became drunk, or since?” 
Finnerty asked sarcastically. 

“At that time the wine had not arrived, sahib. 


THE THREE SAPPHIRES 


257 

We all saw passing yonder in the jungle where there 
is no path the white horse.” 

“Gad! It has been the girl coming down out of 
the hills,” Finnerty said to Swinton. “There must 
be something about to materialise when she waited 
so late. We’ll camp here,” he added to Mahadua. 
“Send a couple of these fellows to the keddha to tell 
Immat to bring out his tusker, with a couple of 
ropes.” 

The men were sent off, a fire built, the tent pitched, 
and Finnerty’s servant, who had been brought in 
charge of the commissariat, prepared a supper for 
the sahibs. 

Bahadar, seeing that Burra Moti had overcome 
her waywardness, knelt down for a restful night, but 
Moti, true to her African elephant habit, remained 
on her stalwart legs, fondling her recovered sapphire 
trinket 


Chapter XIX 


L IKE the aftermath of a heavy storm, the night 
held nothing but the solemn forest stillness ; 
the tired sahibs lay in its calm creatures of 
a transient Nirvana till brought from this void of 
restful bliss by the clarion of a jungle cock rousing 
his feathered harem. 

A golden-beaked black “hill myna” tried his won- 
drous imitative vocal powers on the cock’s call from 
the depths of a tree just above them, and when this 
palled upon his fancy he piped like a magpie or 
drooled like a cuckoo; then he voiced some gibberish 
that might have been simian or gathered from the 
chatter of village children. 

The camp stirred; the natives, shame in their 
hearts and aches in their heads, crawled into action. 
Amir Alii, the cook, built a fire, and brewed tea and 
made toast. 

Lord Victor was filled with curiosity over the 
cock crow, and when it was explained that there were 
wild fowl about he became possessed of a desire to 
shoot some. 

After breakfast Finnerty loaded a gun and sent 
Mahadua with Lord Victor after the jungle fowl. 
They were gone an hour, for the beautiful black-red 
jungle cock had led them deep into the forest before 
falling to the gun. 

258 


THE THREE SAPPHIRES 259 

Upon their return Finnerty fancied there was an 
unusual diffidence about Lord Victor; he seemed dis- 
inclined to dilate upon his sporting trip; also Ma- 
hadua had a worried look, as if he held back some- 
thing he should unfold. 

A little later, as Finnerty went to the spot where 
Moti and Raj Bahadar were feeding upon limbs the 
men had brought, he heard Mahadua say to Gothya : 
“Does a spirit leave hoofprints in the earth as big 
as my cap, believer in ghosts? And does it ride back 
to the hills in daylight?” Then Gothya caught sight 
of Finnerty, and the wrangle ceased. 

When the major had looked at the elephants for 
a minute he drew Mahadua into the jungle, and there 
said: “Now, shikari man, tell me what has entered 
through those little eyes of yours this morning?” 

The face of Mahadua wrinkled in misery. “Sa- 
hib,” he begged, “what am I to do? I eat master’s 

salt, and yet ” He was fumbling in the pocket of 

his jacket; now he drew forth a rupee and tendered 
it to Finnerty, adding: “Take this, master, and give 
it back to the young lord sahib that I may now 
speak, not having eaten his salt to remain silent.” 

Finnerty threw the silver piece into the jungle, 
saying: “Bribery is for monkeys. And now that you 
serve but one master what have you of service for 
him?” 

The man’s eyes, which had been following with 
regret the rupee’s spinning flight, now reverted to 
his master’s face. “Going I saw in soft earth the 
print of hoofs, the front ones having been shod with 


260 


THE THREE SAPPHIRES 


iron; they were not small ones such as Bhutan ponies 
have, nor a little larger like the Arab horses, but 
wide and full, such as grow on the Turki breed.” 

By the “Turki breed” Mahadua meant the Tur- 
coman or Persian horse, Finnerty knew, and the grey 
stallion Marie rode was one such. He asked: “Was 
it the track of the white horse Gothya thought car- 
ried an evil spirit?” 

“Yes, sahib; for as we went beyond after the jun- 
gle hens the mem-sahib who rides the grey stallion 
passed, going up into the hills, and a road bears its 
burden both coming and going.” 

Finnerty jumped mentally. Why had Lord Vic- 
tor given Mahadua a rupee to say nothing of this 
incident? “But she did not see you nor the sahib?” 
he queried. 

“She did not see your servant, but the young man 
spoke with her.” 

“And he gave you a rupee?” 

“He put a finger on his lips and closed his eyes 
when he passed the rupee, and thinking the going 
abroad to eat the air by the mem-sahib of no impor- 
tance to master I said nothing.” 

Neither did Finnerty say anything of this to either 
Lord Victor or Swinton. But he made up his mind 
that he would also go up into the hills that day. It 
was his duty. 

Persistently his mind revolted at the thought of 
denouncing the girl. In some moments of self-anal- 
ysis his heart warmed in confessional, but this feel- 
ing, traitorous to his duty, he put in the storehouse 


THE THREE SAPPHIRES 261 

of locked-away impulses. He had never even whis- 
pered into words these troublous thoughts. It took 
some mastering, did the transient glint of pleasing 
womanhood into his barren jungle life, for the big 
man was an Irish dreamer, a Celt whose emotions 
responded to the subtle tonic of beauty and charm. 
Ever since he had taken Marie in his arms to put 
her in the howdah he had felt her head against his 
shoulder; had seen the heavy sweep of black hair 
that was curiously shot with silver. 

Finnerty could see an uneasy look in Lord Vic- 
tor’s eyes as that young man watched him coming 
back out of the jungle with Mahadua. Why had 
the youngster talked with the girl on the grey stal- 
lion — why had he not let her pass? Why had he 
given the shikari a rupee to say nothing of the meet- 
ing? There was some mystery behind the whole 
thing. She had come back late the previous evening, 
and now she was going up into the hills at this early 
hour. 

The elephant Finnerty had sent for had not ar- 
rived; perhaps the half-drunken messengers had lain 
down in the jungle to sleep off the arak. But at last 
the tusker appeared. It was during this wait that 
Finnerty proposed to Swinton that they should go 
up into the hills. He saw Lord Victor start and 
look up, apprehension in his eyes, when he broached 
the matter, but though the latter advanced many 
reasons why they should not make the journey he 
did not accept the major’s polite release of his com- 
pany; he stuck. Indeed, Finnerty was hoping Gil- 


262 


THE THREE SAPPHIRES 


fain would decide to return to Darpore, for the 
young man’s presence would hamper their work of 
investigation. 

He knew that the grey stallion’s hoofprints would 
be picked up on the path that led to the hills when 
they came to the spot where the girl, having finished 
her detour, would swing her mount back to the beaten 
way, so he rode with his eyes on the ground. He 
first discerned them faintly cupping some hard, stony 
ground, but he said nothing, riding in silence till, 
where the trail lay across a stretch of mellow, black 
soil, imprints of the wide hoofs were indented as 
though inverted saucers had cut a quaint design. 
Here he halted and cried in assumed surprise: “By 
Jove! Somebody rides abroad early this morning!” 

But his assumption of surprise was not more con- 
summate than Gilfain’s, for the latter’s face held a 
baby expression of inquiring wonderment as he said: 
“Floaty sort of idea, I’d call it, for any one to jog 
up into these primeval glades for pleasure.” 

Swinton, who knew the stallion’s hoofprints from 
a former study of them, raised his eyes to Finnerty’s, 
there reading that the major also knew who the 
rider was. 

Now by this adventitious lead their task was sim- 
plified, and Finnerty clung tenaciously to the telltale 
tracks. This fact gradually dawned upon Lord Vic- 
tor, and he became uneasy, dreading to come upon 
the girl while with his two companions. 

They had ridden for an hour, always upward, 
the timber growing lighter, the ground rockier, and 


THE THREE SAPPHIRES 


263 


open spots of jungle more frequent, when, on a lean, 
gravelled ridge, Finnerty stopped, and, dismounting, 
searched the ground for traces of a horse that had 
passed. 

“Have you dropped something, major ?” Lord 
Victor asked querulously. 

“Yes,” Finnerty answered, remounting; “I think 
it’s back on the trail.” 

Swinton followed, and Lord Victor, muttering, 
“What the devil are you fellows up to?” trailed the 
other two. 

A quarter of a mile back, where a small path 
branched, Finnerty picked up their lead and they 
again went upward, now more toward the east. The 
presence of Lord Victor held unworded the dominat- 
ing interest in Swinton’s and Finnerty’s minds, so they 
rode almost silently. 

It was noon when they, now high up among hills 
that stretched away to the foot of Safed Jan, whose 
white-clothed forehead rested in the clouds, came out 
upon a long, stony plateau. Finnerty, pointing with 
his whip, said: “There lies the Safed Jan Pass, and 
beyond is the road to Tibet, and also the road that 
runs south through Nepal and Naga land to Chit- 
tagong. I’ve never been up this far before.” 

“If this trip is in my honour, you’re too devilish 
hospitable,” Lord Victor growled; “mountain climb- 
ing as a pastime is bally well a discredited sport.” 

Here and there on the plateau the damp-darkened 
side of a newly upturned stone told that the grey 
stallion had passed on the path they rode; but at the 


264 THE THREE SAPPHIRES 

farther extremity of the plateau they came, with star- 
tling suddenness, upon a deep cleft — a gorge hun- 
dreds of feet deep, and yet so smooth to the surface 
that at fifty yards it was unobservable. There the 
path ended, and on the farther side, twenty feet 
away, perched like a bird’s nest in a niche of the 
cliff, was a temple, partly hollowed from the solid 
rock and partly built of brick. To one side, carved 
from the rock, was an image of Chamba. 

With a rueful grin, Finnerty cast his eye up and 
down the gorge whose one end was lost between 
mountain cliffs, and whose other dipped down to cut 
the feet of two meeting hills. He dismounted and 
prowled up and down the chasm’s brink. There were 
no hoofprints, no disturbing of sand or gravel; ab- 
solutely nothing but the quiescent weathered surface 
that had lain thus for centuries. 

When Finnerty returned, Swinton, amused at the 
intense expression of discomfiture on his face, said: 
“Our early-morning friend must sit a horse called 
Pegasus.” 

Finnerty, raising his voice, called across the chasm. 
He was answered by an echo of his own rich Irish 
tone that leaped from gorge to gorge to die away 
up the mountainside. He seized a stone and threw 
it with angry force against the brick wall of the tem- 
ple; the stone bounded back, and from the chasm’s 
depths floated up the tinkle of its fall. But that was 
all; there was no response. 

Somewhat to Finnerty’s surprise, Swinton said: 
“Well, we’ve given our curiosity a good run for it; 


THE THREE SAPPHIRES 265 

suppose we jog back? When we get in the cool of 
the jungle we’ll eat our bit of lunch.” 

Finnerty did not voice the objection that was in 
his mind. Certainly the girl had passed that way — 
was still up above them; why should they give up 
pursuit because the trail was momentarily broken? 

Back across the plateau Swinton had assumed the 
lead, and fifty yards in the jungle he stopped, saying: 
“I’m peckish; we’ll have a good, leisurely lunch 
here.” 

When they had eaten, Lord Victor, saying he was 
going to have a look at the bald pate of Safed Jan, 
strolled back toward the plateau. When he had 
gone Swinton spoke : “If we stay here long enough, 
major, the girl, who of course rode that horse whose 
tracks we followed, will come around that sharp 
turn in the path, and, figuratively, plunk into our 
arms. We are at the neck of the bottle — the gate- 
way. There’s a mighty cleverly constructed draw- 
bridge in the face of that temple; that brickwork 
hides it pretty well.” 

Finnerty whistled. “And the girl, you think, van- 
ished over the let-down bridge?” 

“Yes, and probably sat there eyeing us all the 
time.” 

“By Jove, they saw us coming on the plateau and 
drew up the bridge!” 

“Yes.” 

“And what do we do now?” 

“Wait here. We’ll see her face to face, I’m cer- 


266 


THE THREE SAPPHIRES 


tain; that will be something. Whether she will have 
with her what she searches for I don’t know.” 

“Some companion she expects to meet here?” 

“It must be, and I’m going to search him.” 

“Unless it’s too big a party.” 

“When do we start?” Lord Victor queried, re- 
turning; but he received only an evasive answer. He 
grew petulant as an hour went by. 

And now Swinton had disappeared up the trail 
toward the plateau. After a time he came back, 
and with a motion of his eyebrows told Finnerty that 
some one was coming. They could hear an occa- 
sional clink of iron striking stone as a horse, moving 
at a slow walk, came across the plateau, and then a 
gentle, muffled, rhythmic series of thuds told that he 
was on the jungle path. 

Finnerty had laid his heavy hand with a strong 
grip on Lord Victor’s forearm, the pressure, almost 
painful, conveying to that young man’s mind an in- 
articulate threat that if he voiced a warning some- 
thing would happen him; he read its confirmation in 
a pair of blue Irish eyes that stared at him from 
below contracted brows. 

A grey horse suddenly rounding the sharp turn 
came to a halt, for Swinton was sprawled fair across 
the path. 

A heavy veil, fastened around the girl’s helmet, 
failed to release at her trembling, spasmodic grasp, 
and her face went white as Swinton, leisurely rising, 
stood just to one side of the stallion’s head, his im- 
placable, unreadable eyes turned toward her. She 


THE THREE SAPPHIRES 


267 


knew, perhaps from the man’s attitude within reach 
of her bridle rein, perhaps from the set of that face, 
perhaps from blind intuition, that the captain had 
recognised her. 

Finnerty came forward, lifting his helmet in an in- 
terference of blessed relief, for he, too, sensed that 
there was something wrong — something even be- 
yond the previous suspicion. 

Lord Victor, who had sprung to his feet with a 
gasping cry at the girl’s appearance, stood limp with 
apprehension, his mind so much of a boy’s mind, 
casting about futilely for some plan to help her, for 
there was dread in her face, and, like a boy’s mind, 
his found the solution of the difficulty in a trick, just 
such a trick as a schoolboy would pitch upon. The 
whole process of its evolution had taken but two 
seconds, so it really was an inspiration. He darted 
toward the horse, crying banteringly: “I say! In- 
troduce me, old top.” Then his foot caught in a 
visionary root, and he plunged, his small, bare head 
all but burying itself in Swinton’s stomach. 

The grey stallion leaped from the rake of a spur, 
his thundering gallop all but drowning the blasphe- 
mous reproach that issued from Swinton’s lips, as, in 
a fury of sudden passion, he took a deliberate swing 
at the young nobleman’s nose. 

Finnerty unostentatiously crowded his bulk be- 
tween the two, saying, with an inward laugh : “You’re 
a dangerous man; you’ve winded the captain, and 
you’ve frightened that horse into a runaway. He 
may break the girl’s neck.” 


268 


THE THREE SAPPHIRES 


They were a curious trio, each one holding a mo- 
tive that the other two had not attained to, each 
one now dubious of the others’ full intent, and yet 
no one wishing to clear the air by questions or re- 
criminations — not just yet, anyway. 

“What the devil did the girl bolt for?” Swinton 
asked angrily. 

“The horse bolted,” Finnerty answered, lying in 
an Irishman’s good cause — a woman. 

“You clumsy young ass!” Swinton hurled at Gil- 

fain. “I wanted to ” Then the hot flush of 

temper, so rare with him, was checked by his master- 
ing passion — secretiveness. 

Lord Victor laughed. “My dear and austere 
mentor, I apologise. In my hurry to forestall you 
with the young lady whom you have ridden forth 
so many mornings to meet I bally well stumped your 
wicket, I’m afraid — and my own, too, for we’re both 
bowled.” 

Finnerty philosophically drew his leather cheroot 
case and proffered it to Swinton, saying: “Take a 
weed!” 

The captain complied, lighting it in an abstraction 
of remastery. He had made the astounding discov- 
ery that Marie was the young lady from whose evil 
influence Lord Victor presumably had been removed 
by sending him to Darpore, and, as an enlargement 
of this disturbing knowledge, was the now hammer- 
ing conviction that she had brought the stolen papers 
to be delivered to traitorous Prince Ananda. 

At that instant of his mental sequence the captain 


THE THREE SAPPHIRES 269 

all but burned his nose, paralysed by a flashing 
thought. “Good Lord!” he groaned. “It is these 
papers that she seeks up this way; the somebody 
who is coming overland is bringing them for fear 
the authorities might have caught her on the steamer 
routes.” Then in relief to this came the remem- 
brance that so far she had not met the some one, 
for she travelled alone. But now that she — as he 
read in her eyes — had recognised him — her very wild 
plunge to escape proved it — his chance of discover- 
ing anything would be practically nil; he would pos- 
sibly receive the same hushing treatment that had 
been meted out to Perreira, the half-caste. 

“Shall we go back now?” Lord Victor was asking. 
“It’s rather tame to-day; I’m not half fed up on 
tiger fights and elephant combats.” 

“Presently,” Swinton answered, sitting down to 
still more methodically correlate the points of this 
newer vision. He could not confide any part of his 
discovery to Finnerty with Lord Victor present; he 
would decide later on whether he should, indeed, 
mention it at all. At first flush he had thought of 
galloping after the girl, but even if he had succeeded 
in overtaking her what could he do? If he searched 
her and found nothing, he would have ruined every- 
thing; probably Finnerty would have ranged up with 
the girl against this proceeding. 

Further vibration of this human triangle, the three 
men of divers intent, was switched to startled ex- 
pectancy by the clang of something upon the plateau 
— an iron-shod staff striking a stone or the impact 


270 


THE THREE SAPPHIRES 


of a horse’s hoof. This was followed by silence. 
Finnerty stepped gently across to his horse, unslung 
from the saddle his io-bore, and slipped two car- 
tridges into it as he returned to stand leisurely against 
a tree trunk, an uplifted finger commanding silence. 
They could now hear the shuffling, muffled noises 
which emanate from people who travel a jungle trail 
no matter how cautiously they move, and something 
in the multiplicity of sounds intimated that several 
units composed the approaching caravan. 

Two Naga spearmen first appeared around the 
turn, their eager, searching eyes showing they were 
on the alert for something. The threatening maw 
of the io-bore caused them to stand stock-still, their 
jungle cunning teaching them the value of implicit 
obedience. They made no outcry. In four seconds 
the shaggy head of a pony came into view, and then 
his body, bearing in the saddle a sahib, and behind 
could be seen native carriers. The man on horse- 
back reined up; then he laughed — a cynical, unmu- 
sical sneer it was. He touched the spur to his pony’s 
flank, brushed by the Naga spearmen, and, eyeing 
the io-bore quizzically, asked: “Well, my dear boy, 
what’s the idea?” 

Finnerty lowered the gun, answering: “Nothing; 
preparedness, that’s all. Thought it might be a war 
party of Naga head-hunters when I saw those two 
spearmen.” 

The horseman slipped from his saddle and stood 
holding the rein; a lithe, sinewy, lean-faced man of 


THE THREE SAPPHIRES 271 

forty-five years, his sharp grey eyes, a little too close 
set, holding a vulpine wariness. 

Swinton had noticed his easy pose in the saddle, 
suggesting polo command, and now the two or three 
quick, precise steps forward spoke, “Service.” 

To Finnerty the cynical, drawling voice rang fa- 
miliar; it had a curious, metallic, high-pitched crisp- 
ness that the drawl failed to smother, but the man’s 
face, caked with the drifting hill dust that sweat had 
matrixed, was like a mask. Finnerty proffered a 
cheroot, which the stranger accepted eagerly, saying: 
“Fancy my beggars bagged mine. I’ve had only 
some native mixture to puff from a crude clay pipe I 
made and baked in a fire.” 

“Come from Tibet way?” the major queried. 

“No; been up country buying cotton for Chitta- 
gong people, and got raided by dacoits; had to work 
out this way.” 

This story, even fantastic and sudden-built as it 
sounded, might have passed ordinarily as just the 
rightful duplicity of a man not called upon to con- 
fide the reasons of his exploration trip to any one, 
had not the one word “Chittagong” burned like acid. 

Swinton felt that the stranger’s eyes were search- 
ing him, though his words were for Finnerty. Both 
knew the speaker was lying. His whole get-up was. 
not the easy, indifferent, restful apparel of a man 
who had been some long time in the jungle. He 
wore brown leather riding boots instead of perhaps 
canvas shoes; his limbs were incased in cord breeches 
that spoke of a late Bond Street origin; a stock that 


sm 


THE THREE SAPPHIRES 

had once been white held a horseshoe pin studded 
with moonstones, its lower ends passing beneath a 
gaudily checked vest. This very get-up dinned fa- 
miliarity into the major’s mind; he struggled with 
memory, mentally asking, “Where have I seen this 
chap?” The tawny moustache, bristling in pointed 
smoothness, had a rakish familiarity, and yet the 
echoes came from far back on the path of life, as 
elusively haunting as a dream recalled in the morn- 
ing. 

Abstractedly, as they talked, the stranger shifted 
his riding whip to his teeth, and, reaching down with 
the liberated hand, gave a slight tug at his boot strap, 
and that instant Finnerty knew his man. It was al- 
most a gasping cry of recognition: “Captain Foley 
— by all the powers !” 

The stranger’s face blanched, and Swinton sprang 
to his feet, galvanised by a tremendous revelation. 

An amused cackle came from beneath the tawny 
moustache, followed by an even-worded drawl : “You 
Johnnies are certainly out for a fine draw this morn- 
ing; my name happens to be Blake-Hume — Charles 
Blake -Hume.” 

Finnerty grinned. “The same old delightfully hu- 
morous Pat Foley that I knew in the Tenth Hussars 
at Umballa, when I was a griffin fresh out; even in 
the choice of a new name you’re aristocratic — 
‘Blake-Hume!’ My dear boy, you could no more 
shed yourself than you could that desire for a fancy 
vest and the moonstone pin that you wore in a dev* 


THE THREE SAPPHIRES 273 

iltry of revolt against the idea that moonstones were 
unlucky.” 

Swinton was now convinced that Finnerty had 
made no mistake ; he could see it in a sudden narrow- 
ing of the foxy eyes, and, taking a step closer to their 
visitor, he said: “Captain Foley, your daughter Ma- 
rie has just passed down the trail.” 

This simple assertion had the comparative effect 
of a hand grenade dropped midway between Fin- 
nerty and the stranger; possibly the major was the 
more astounded one of the two. 

“What, in the name of Heaven, are you saying, 
man?” he cried, though he still kept his steadfast 
blue eyes held on Captain Foley, for something in 
the latter’s attitude suggested danger. 

“Simply this,” Swinton answered; “Captain Foley 
is the father of the girl known here as Marie Boelke, 
and it was she who stole a state paper from the 
possession of Earl Craig.” 

“Candour seems to be a jewel above price in the 
jungles this morning, so my compliments to you, my 
dear Captain Herbert, government policeman,” 
Foley snarled. 

Stung by the gratuitous sneer, Finnerty said with 
feeling: “Perhaps ‘Mad’ Foley” — he dropped the 
captain, knowing that Foley had been cast from the 
service — “you also recognise me, but for certain 
pieces of silver you would deny it. Do you remember 
the time I saved you a jolly good hiding that was 
fair coming to you for one of your crazy tricks?” 

“Perfectly, my dear Finnerty; you were known 


£74 THE THREE SAPPHIRES 

to the mess as the ‘Ulster Babe’; it was just a hu- 
mour of mine now to play you a little, and as for the 
‘bobby’ here, one could never mistake those bits of 
blue china that have been dubbed the ‘farthing eyes.’ 
Indeed I know you both quite well.” 

Swinton, less edged than Finnerty, now tendered 
some cynical coin in payment: “Perhaps you know 
this young gentleman also; I think he has cause for 
remembering you” 

“Good morning, Lord Victor! You are in pleas- 
ant company,” and Captain Foley let his irritating 
cackle escape. He gathered the bridle rein in his 
left hand, grasping the mane at his pony’s wither, 
and turned the stirrup outward to receive his foot 
as preparation for a leisurely lift to the saddle. 

In answer to a hand signal, Finnerty lifted his io- 
bore to cover Captain Foley as Swinton said: “Just 
a moment, Mister Foley; there are certain formali- 
ties imposed upon suspected persons crossing the 
Nepal border, which include perhaps a search. We 
want the papers your daughter stole from Earl 
Craig under your influence, and for which you were 
paid German gold.” 

“The bobby is devilish considerate, Lord Gilly, in 
not naming you as the careless one, isn’t he ? Charm- 
ingly diffident sort of chap to put the onus on the 
venerable early. The old gent would be tremen- 
dously shocked to know he was accused of flirting 
with a young girl, don’t you think?” 

“I do think something, which is that you’re no end 


THE THREE SAPPHIRES 


275 


of a bounder to bring your daughter’s name into your 
flooey talk,” Lord Victor retorted angrily. 

“Tell your coolies to open up everything,” and 
Swinton’s opaque eyes held Foley’s shifty ones men- 
acingly, “As to yourself, strip!” 

“The coolies are at his majesty’s service, Mister 
Bobby; as for myself I’ll see you damned first. I 
am in independent territory; Maharajah Darpore 
is, like myself, not a vassal of Johnnie Bull. If you 
put a hand on me I’ll blink those farthing eyes of 
yours, Mister Bloody Bobby.” 

Next instant the speaker sprawled on his back, 
both shoulders to the earthen mat, as Finnerty threw 
a quick wrestler’s hold across his neck. The big 
Irishman’s blood had been heated by the very words 
that had roused Lord Victor’s anger. Besides, this 
was the easier way; they had no time for interna- 
tional equity. Swinton quickly searched the pros- 
trate man. His boots were pulled off, the insoles 
ripped out — even a knife blade inserted between the 
two laps of the outer soles, practically wrecking 
them. A Webley revolver that hung from a belt 
Foley wore was emptied of its shells; even its barrel 
was prodded for a hidden roll of thin paper. The 
search of the packs was most thorough, and fully 
devoid of results. 

Foley laughed cynically when the two searchers 
stood empty-handed, discomfiture patent in their 
faces. 

“You turned the paper over to your daughter,” 
Swinton accused in an unusually verbal mood. 


27 6 


THE THREE SAPPHIRES 


“According to your own statement, my dear gov- 
ernment spy, you had the young lady in your hands 
here; did you find this apocryphal document?” 

Swinton’s eyes met Finnerty’s, which were saying 
quite plainly: “The girl has beaten us out!” There 
also lingered in the Irishman’s eyes, Swinton fancied, 
a pathetic look of regret that now there could be 
no doubt about her mission; he even heard a deep- 
drawn breath, such as a game better takes when he 
has lost heavily. 

“A devilish nice mess you have made of your life 
and your daughter’s, Captain Foley,” Lord Victor 
suddenly ejaculated. “You were a ‘king’s bad bar- 
gain’ in the army, and you’re a man’s bad bargain 
out of it.” 

Foley stared; then he sneered: “The young cock 
must be cutting his spurs. Rather tallish order from 
a waster, Lord Gilly.” He turned to Captain Swin- 
ton. “Now that you have performed your police 
duties I have a bottle of Scotch, which no doubt you 
observed among my traps, and if you gentlemen have 
no objection to joining me we’ll drink a toast, ‘Happy 
to meet, sorry to part, and happy to meet again.’ ” 

“I don’t drink with the king’s enemies!” Swinton 
clipped the words with a sound as if coins dropped. 

“Nor I — with thieves,” added Lord Victor. 

“I’m sorry for you, my boy,” the major said sol- 
emnly. “I’m ashamed to refuse to drink with an 
Irishman, but I’m fed up on traitors.” 

Swinton drew the major to one side. When they 
had finished a discussion as to whether there was any 


THE THREE SAPPHIRES 


m 

benefit in detaining Foley or not, which was settled 
in the negative, Foley asked, a sneer curling the 
tawny moustache: “Well, you pair of bobbies, do I 
pass?” 

“You may go — to hell!” Finnerty added the 
warm destination in bitterness of soul over his shat- 
tered dream. 

The coolies had repacked their burdens; the two 
Naga spearmen at a command trotted down the 
path; Foley swung into the saddle, and with a mock- 
ing, “Au revoir, Lord Gilly, Mister Bobby, and my 
dear Ulster Babe,” was gone. 

“Dished!” Finnerty exclaimed bitterly. 

“The girl — we are outwitted by a woman!” Swin- 
ton admitted despondently. 

“You two Johnnies have thrown up your tails,” 
Lord Victor objected. “If the girl has the docu- 
ment you’re so cocksure of, it’s something to know 
that it’s in Darpore. That’s what I call a deuced 
good clue.” 

“My dear boy,” Finnerty said, under evident con- 
trol, “you’re as innocent as a babe. You don’t hap- 
pen to know that there’s a mutiny near ripe in Dar- 
pore, and it just needed a torch, such as this docu- 
ment, to set the whole state in a blaze.” 

Swinton, galvanised out of his habitual control, 
added fiercely: “And, you young ass! You knew 
who the girl was; we saw you at Jadoo Pool — we 
saved your life. If I’d known that it was Marie 
Foley I’d have dogged every footstep she took ” 

“But you knew when you had her here,” Lord 


278 THE THREE SAPPHIRES 

Victor objected, momentarily forgetting his part in 
that episode. 

“Yes, by Heaven, I did, and I can thank your 
sprawling interference for her escape ! Why didn’t 
you tell us that it was the girl who had stolen these 
state papers?” 

“I’ve got a floaty idea that this lack of mutual 
confidence originated with your honourable self, Cap- 
tain — Captain Herbert, as I now learn your name is. 
Do you think the earl would have countenanced my 
accepting the hospitality of a prince accompanied by 
a government spy?” 

“You’ve answered your own question, Lord Vic- 
tor,” Swinton said quietly. “Earl Craig belongs to 
the old school, the Exeter Hall crowd who believe 
the Oriental is an Occidental — India for the Indians 
is their motto — and that the Hun is a civilised gen- 
tleman, not as some of us know him, a rapacious 
brute who seeks to dominate the world. It is that 
cabal, the Haldane tribe, in psychic affinity with the 
soulless Hun, that makes it possible for this cuckoo 
creature, Boelke, to plant his eggs of sedition in the 
Darpore nest. Earl Craig would not have been a 
party to my way of unmasking or clearing the Dar- 
pores, father and son; he’d call it un-English. But 
I may say I did not come out here to watch you; 
there was no suspicion that you would come in con- 
tact with the stolen paper. My mission was con- 
cerned with some arms that are headed for India. 
I hope you see why it was thought advisable to keep 
you in ignorance of my status.” 


. THE THREE SAPPHIRES 


279 


Lord Victor did not assimilate this rapidly worded 
statement as quickly as it was offered. He pondered 
a little, and then said: “I did not know that Marie 
Foley was here, and she got no end of a surprise 
when I turned up. It was all a bally fluke her arrang- 
ing to meet me; she funked it when that gold cig- 
arette case was handed her by Prince Ananda with 
the information that I had found it. She thought I 
had recognised it, which I hadn’t; at least it dan- 
gled in my memory, but I hadn’t connected it with 
her. She rode down the hill, and when she saw me 
coming along dropped a note so that I saw it fall — 
devilish clever, I call it — making an appointment at 
Jadoo Pool, and there she made me promise not to 
denounce her.” 

“Somewhat easy, I fancy,” Swinton said sarcastic- 
ally; “threw the glamour of love over you.” 

“You dear old bachelor! You have very vision- 
ary ideas of that matter. She doesn’t care two straws 
for me; it was purely a matter of ‘on honour’ busi- 
ness, because she gave me her solemn word that she 
hadn’t stolen the document, and that she hadn’t 
brought it out to Darpore. As to the ‘grand pas- 
sion,’ I have a floaty idea that the handsome major, 
with his trick of life-saving, has taken Marie’s 
fancy.” 

Finnerty blushed, but Swinton said gloomily: 
“You see the result of believing her. She was just 
too fiendishly cunning; she hadn’t the paper, but 
knew that her traitor father was bringing it and that 
she, comparatively immune from search, could safely 


280 


THE THREE SAPPHIRES 


carry it to the last lap of its journey. She knew that 
we were liable to intercept the father and very prob- 
ably search him.” 

“Looks like it,” Finnerty commented. “I didn’t 
know that Foley had a daughter; I heard he’d been 
cashiered.” 

“He raced himself out of the army — gambled too 
heavily,” Swinton explained; “then, it being the only 
thing he cared for, went at it professionally till he 
raced himself out of England. After that he drifted 
to Austria and married a Viennese, reported to be 
of noble family. Whether it was a chance to plant 
a spy in England or that the woman really fell in 
love with him I don’t know. Marie, of course, is the 
daughter, and between them the Foleys stole that 
document through a chance that came because of 
Lord Victor’s fancy for the girl.” 

Swinton had spoken without any feeling in his 
voice — automatically, like a witness giving evidence. 
Gilfain seemed to understand this, for he made no 
comment. But Finnerty said lugubriously: “Devilish 
nasty mess, and we’ve been dished.” He picked up 
the io-bore, and, going over to his horse, strapped 
it under his saddle flap, saying: “We’d better jog 
back.” 


Chapter XX 


T WO legs of the mental triangle somewhat 
folded together as it dribbled down the forest 
path, Finnerty and Swinton riding in the lead 
and Lord Victor, with the depressing conviction that 
he had muddled things, behind. 

“It’s pretty well cleared up,” Swinton remarked 
in a tone that just reached Finnerty. 

“And looks rather bad for us being able to handle 
the situation without telegraphing headquarters,” 
the major answered despondently. 

“Small chance for that,” and Swinton laughed in 
bitterness. “Our new Nana Sahib, Ananda, will 
have the wires cut or the operator under control; 
we’ll get no word out of here until the thing has 
happened.” 

Finnerty also realised how completely they had 
been blanked. “By heavens, we’ve got to spike the 
guns ourselves! We’d better be killed in the at- 
tempt than be censured by government,” he declared. 

“I think so. They’ve left it to us so far, and the 
blame is really on our shoulders, old man.” 

“We’ll never get the paper,” Finnerty said with 
conviction. 

“I agree with you in that, but we’ve got to get the 
machine guns and their ammunition; without them 
they’d be an unarmed rabble, and no great harm 
281 


282 


THE THREE SAPPHIRES 


could be done before a regiment from Dumdum or 
Lucknow could be thrown in here. It’s a crazy 
scheme of Ananda’s, anyway, but the Mad Mullah 
in the Sudan cost many a British life because he was 
held too lightly at first and got guns.” 

Finnerty had been restlessly eyeing the trail they 
travelled. Now he worded the reason, which he 
had carried unplaced in words before: “Going and 
coming I’ve been looking for tracks left by that 
party of gun runners the Banjara told about, but 
I’ve seen none. This path that the girl followed is 
not the main trail leading up through Safed Jan 
Pass, and those accursed Huns, with their usual Ger- 
man thoroughness, built that drawbridge at the old 
temple so that Foley could slip in without a chance 
of being met. The whole thing is as clear as mud; 
he was to wait there till the girl came for the docu- 
ment. When we get lower down we’ll cut across the 
jungle to the regular trail — it’s an old elephant high- 
way — and check up.” 

“We’ve got to get into that underground fort,” 
Swinton said with solemn determination in his voice. 
“Jadoo Cave has got something to do with the en- 
trance.” 

A disconcerting thought struck Finnerty. “The 
minute we show up we’ll be surrounded by spies. 
They’re in my bungalow all the time; we’ll not get 
a chance.” 

There was a warning cough from behind, and 
then Lord Victor, urging his horse closer, said: 
“Don’t bar me, you fellows, from, anything that’s 


283 


THE THREE SAPPHIRES 

on; I don’t want to be ‘sent to Coventry.’ If it’s a 
question of fight, for God’s sake give me a gun. I’d 
rather have you damn me like a bargee than be left 
out. I can’t bally well plan anything — I’m not up 
to it — but I’m an Englishman.” 

“My dear boy,” Finnerty answered, “we know 
that. If we’d taken you in at the start we’d have 
given you a better chance, but we all make blunders.” 

It was about four o’clock when Finnerty, halting, 
said: “I know where I’m at now; the other trail lies 
due west, and if we keep our faces full on Old Sol 
we’ll make it.” 

Through the jungle without a path their progress 
was slow. At times they were turned into big de- 
tours by interlaced walls of running elephant creeper 
and vast hedges of the sahbar kirao, the “have-pa- 
tience plant” that, with its hooked spikes, was like 
a fence of barbed wire. Their minds, tortured by 
the impending calamity, were oblivious to the 
clamour of the jungle. A bear that had climbed a 
dead tree inhabited by bees scuttled down to the 
ground, an animated beehive, his face glued with 
honey, his paws dripping with it, and his thick fur 
palpitating with the beat of a million tiny wings. 
He humped away in a shuffling lope, unmolested; 
not even a laugh followed his grotesque form. 

It was five o’clock when they struck the Safed 
Jan Trail and swung southward, Finnerty’s eyes tak- 
ing up the reading of its page. “Ah!” he cried sud- 
denly, and, pulling his horse to a standstill, he 
dropped to the ground. 


$84 THE THREE SAPPHIRES 

In the new partnership he turned rather to Lord 
Victor, saying: “WeVe been told that machine guns 
and ammunition have been run into Darpore over 
the same Chittagong route we think Mad Foley used, 
only they’ve come along this trail from the pass.” 
He dipped his thumb into one of the numerous deep 
heel prints, adding: “See! The carriers were heavy 
loaded and there were many.” 

From the varied weathering of the tracks it was 
apparent that carriers had passed at different inter- 
vals of time. 

The major remounted, and they had ridden half 
an hour when his horse pricked his ears and the 
muscles of his neck quivered in an action of discov- 
ery. Finnerty slipped his io-bore from its holding 
straps, passed his bridle rein to Swinton, and, drop- 
ping to the ground, went stealthily around a bend in 
the path. He saw nothing — no entrapping armed 
natives — but a voice came to him from its unseen 
owner, saying softly: “Salaam ! I am the herdsman, 
and am here for speech with the sahib.” 

“All right. Come forth!” the major answered. 

From a thick screen of brush the Banjara stepped 
out, saying: “My brother is beyond on the trail, and 
from his perch in a tree he has given the call of a 
bird that I might know it was the keddah sahib that 
passed; he will soon be here.” 

Finnerty called, and Swinton and Lord Victor 
came forward. Presently the fellow arrived, and, 
at a word from the herdsman, said: “Nawab Darna 
Singh sends salaams to the keddah sahib.” 


THE THREE SAPPHIRES 


285 


Finnerty stared in amazement. “Why should he 
have sent you, knowing that a Banjara does not kiss 
the hand that has beaten him like a dog?” 

“Because of that, huzoor. Darna Singh is also 
treated like a dog, for he is put in a cage, and those 
who are beaten join together against the whip.” 

“Why is Darna Singh caged?” 

The man cast an uneasy glance toward Lord Vic- 
tor and hesitated. Sensing the reason for this, Fin- 
nerty said : “Speak the truth and fear not.” 

“We of this country know that the sahibs are 
quick to anger if the mem-sahibs are spoken of, but 
it is because of the young mem-sahib that Darna 
Singh suffers. There is to be war, and Darna Singh 
came to know — though it may be a lie — that the 
mem-sahib would be made maharani — perhaps not 
a gudi maharani — and his sister would be taken with 
a fever and die. And it may be that in a passion 
over this he sought to end the matter with a thrust 
of a knife, but I have heard that Rajah Ananda re- 
ceived but a slight cut.” 

“I’m damned sorry for that, for the nawab has a 
strong arm.” 

“Darna Singh was indeed unlucky, sahib, for Ra- 
jah Ananda had been taught in Belati to strike with 
the hand and that saved him.” 

“Where is the Nawab caged?” 

“Below; where the guns are.” 

Finnerty caught a quick flash of the eye from Swin- 
ton. 

“And if that is the truth, that you come from him 


286 


THE THREE SAPPHIRES 


must be a lie, for a jailer does not give entrance to. 
friends of the prisoner.” 

“True, sahib; but the rani is not caged, and she 
fears for the life of her brother, and knowing I had 
been beaten by the rajah and knowing that a Ban- 
jara does not forgive, for our tribe is many in her 
father’s state, she sent by a handmaid, who is also 
of our tribe, a ring of keys that were Darna Singh’s, 
and the woman was taught to say, ‘Give these to the 
keddah sahib and tell him that war comes to the 
sircar; that these keys open the way where are 
many guns and where now is Darna Singh.’ ” 

The man took from the folds of his turban a ring 
upon which were three keys. Finnerty received them 
in astonishment; then he asked: “Where are the 
doors?” 

“The black leopard came out from his cage 
through Jadoo Cave, and it may be that Darna Singh 
opened a door of the cave with one of these keys.” 

“Damn it!” Swinton ejaculated. “That’s the 
whole thing.” But Finnerty objected: “We searched 
that cave, and there was no door.” 

“True, there is no door, but there is a passage 
high up in the gloom, and beyond that is a cave that 
was made by the foreigners, and in that is the door. 
And also it opens to the trail that we are now on.” 
The native messenger was explicit. 

“By Jove !” Finnerty exclaimed. “That’s how the 
leopard slipped away.” 

The herdsman said: “I did not know of this, and 


THE THREE SAPPHIRES 287 

perhaps wrongly accused that monkey-faced shikari 
of sleeping over his task.” 

The messenger now said deprecatingly : “A watch- 
man knows the many manners of acquiring to the in- 
side of a bungalow without being seen, and one way 
is to wait for darkness. Also they will watch the 
sahib’s bungalow for his return.” 

“Very well,” Finnerty said; “if I am able to see 
to it, my faithful fellow, when this is over the sircar 
will give to you and your brother a village that you 
may collect the tithes from and have a home.” 

“Sahib, I have received my pay in advance from 
the rajah; I am but serving in the manner of the 
pay.’’ 

“Sit you then,” Finnerty commanded, “while we 
talk in plans.” 

“We’ve a chance, major, now that we can get in,” 
Swinton declared. “I have my cordite rifle, you have 
your io-bore, and if we can but get command of 
their ammunition we’ll blow the damn thing up, even 
if we go with it.” 

Finnerty felt that there was no question about the 
captain’s sincerity; the flat blue eyes transmitted noth- 
ing but fixed purpose. 

“Oh, I say, am I in the discard?” Lord Victor 
asked plaintively, for the messenger’s information 
had been translated in a condensed form, Finnerty 
rather emphasising the important part Marie played 
as the future maharani. 

“I thought of that,” Swinton answered; “you will 
be a ‘reserve battalion.’ I don’t mind being pipped 


288 


THE THREE SAPPHIRES 


in the way of duty — rather expect it some day — but 
I should rather like my family to know that I pegged 
out playing the game, and I shouldn’t wonder if 
we’re bagged in that cubby-hole, that it would never 
be known just how we had disappeared.” 

“Besides, youngster,” Finnerty added, “if you can 
work yourself into communication with the govern- 
ment we want you to let them know what is trump.” 
The major spoke to the Banjara; then he returned 
to Lord Victor: “This chap will smuggle you out, he 
says, and I think he can do it. His brother will 
bring you word if we get out, and even if he knows 
we’ve been captured he will come to tell you ; at any 
rate, if we’re not reported safe before morning you 
had better take the horses and get away — the Ban- 
jara can stick on one, he says.” 

“Don’t worry over us, Gilfain,” Swinton added; 
“just get word out as soon as you can.” 

Then the watchman said: “The sahib sent back 
out of the jungle the elephant with the bell, and it 
is a sacred elephant for such as worship the god that 
sits in sleep.” 

“It is a sacred elephant to those who worship 
Buddha,” Finnerty answered. 

“The woman who came from the maharani said 
that Rajah Ananda has taken the sacred elephant 
in his hand, for to-night is a night of omen at the 
Lake of the Golden Coin.” 

“By gad!” Finnerty cried. “That swine has got 
the three sapphires together now. Nothing will stop 
him; he’ll be fanatically insane.” 


THE THREE SAPPHIRES 


289 

A sibilant whistle from Swinton was his only com- 
ment. The thought was paralysing. 

“Well” — Finnerty sighed the words — ^we’ll just 
sit here till it’s dark, and then play our last card.” 
He pulled his belt, in which was a hunting knife, a 
hole tighter, as if girding his loins for the fray. 

The Banjara now said: “Rajah Ananda will send 
out men to look for you on the trail, sahib, but if 
you will go east through the jungle to where there is 
a small path — one the sahib no doubt knows — my 
brother and I will lead the horses back up over this 
broad trail to a nala with a stony bed, and then 
through the jungle and back to where you wait, so 
that those who come forth will say: ‘The keddah 
sahib and his friends came down and then went back 
again to the hills, perhaps to follow a bison.’ ” 

“Splendid!” Finnerty commented, and added in 
commendation: “ ‘To a strong man a wrong done is 
more power.’ ” 

Then Finnerty and his companion cut across 
through the jungle. It was a good ruse, for the 
rajah’s men, thinking the sahibs were up in the jungle, 
would not guard every approach. 

The sun was now sinking on the horizon, and with 
its usual bird clamour of eventide the day was pass- 
ing. Once, as they waited, Lord Victor said: “I 
don’t believe that girl would join herself to a na- 
tive.” 

“That’s because you’re in the full moon of faith, 
my young friend. At your age I believed in fairies, 
too,” Finnerty said. 


290 


THE THREE SAPPHIRES 


“Just the sort of faith,” Swinton contributed, 
“that gives such women their power for mischief; a 
Prussian spy must do as she is told, and if she were 
allotted to Ananda, to Ananda she goes.” 

A shrill note that might have been from a boat- 
swain’s silver whistle or a red-breasted teal came 
floating up from where they had left the Safed Jan 
Trail. It was answered from on toward the palace hill. 

“Ananda’s men have found where the horses have 
turned to go back up into the hills,” Finnerty 
chuckled. 

“Deucedly clever work of that Banjara,” Lord 
Victor declared; “sorry I shot the old infidel’s dog.” 

A little later the whistling note, repeated three 
times, came from higher up, where the Safed Jan 
Trail lay. 

The forest was dark from the drop of night’s 
curtain when the Banjara and his brother came so 
softly along the scarce discernible trail that they were 
almost upon the sahibs before they were heard. 

“The moon will appear in two hours, sahib, and 
its light would betray you,” the herdsman advised, 
“so it is well that we take the horses down this 
path which no one travels at night, and when we 
have come close to Jadoo Nala I will remain with 
the horses and you will go with my brother into 
the cave.” 

When they had come to a proper place to leave 
their horses in the jungle, Lord Victor said: “The 
strategy of you two Johnnies isn’t what I’d call first 


THE THREE SAPPHIRES 


291 


chop. I’ll be a dub at this sortie game, for I don’t 
know the language.” 

“The Banjara does,” Finnerty said shortly. 

“There’s another thing,” the youth resumed; 
“either of you chaps are sort of serviceable to the 
king, probably cost him a thousand pounds up to 
date for your training, and I’m — as our delightful 
friend Foley phrased it — a waster. Sabe, my dear 
major?” 

“My dear boy, you’re in training for the future 
earlship. A thoroughbred colt isn’t much benefit to 
the realm, but he generally develops into something 
worth while — sabe?” 

“Thanks, old top! Rather think I’ll stow that 
away as a good tip. But to return: I’d feel rather 
thankful to take a chance inside to — well, come 
back.” 

“You mean about the girl? We just forgot all 
that, and are now trying to do the best we can for 
what’s to come, and your place is just where you’ve 
been stationed; that is, unless you’re in command.” 

Lord Victor sprang to his feet, clicked his heels 
together, very erect and soldierly, for he had been at 
Sandhurst, and saluted. With a laugh Finnerty 
said: “Fall out!” The discussion ceased. 

From where they were they could hear, at times, 
curious, muffled noises disturbing the evening quiet, 
coming from the palace hill. Finnerty now gave 
some final advice : 

“It is now eight o’clock. If we do not come back 


THE THREE SAPPHIRES 


for the horses or get you word before morning, 
make for the outside. Have you any money?” 

“Not much,” Lord Victor answered. 

Finnerty and Swinton gave him the money they 
had, the former saying: “If we get caught in that 
cave we won’t need these rupees to pay board for 
long, I fancy.” He held out his hand, and the youth 
took it, saying: “I’ll remember about the thorough- 
bred colt.” 

Swinton shook hands with him, saying: “Duty is 
the best tutor, Lord Victor; it’s a steadier, eh?” 

“Sorry about — well, the — that silly break of mine 
about secret service, you know.” 

The Banjara, noting this completion of detail, 
said : “And the matter of a village, huzoor — does the 
young Lord Sahib understand that he is to tell the 
sircar that me and my brother have been true to their 
salt?” 

“I will tell him to not forget, my friend, for you 
will well deserve it,” the major answered. 

When he had impressed this matter upon Gilfain, 
Finnerty held out his hand to the Banjara : “Brother, 
you are a man.” 

“We Banjaras are taught by our mothers that we 
are to become men,” the herdsman answered with 
simple dignity. 

Like the sealing of a solemn compact between 
the members of a brotherhood was this exchange of 
handclasps, Swinton also taking the Banjara’s hand 
in a grasp of admiration. 

As Finnerty and Swinton melted down the gloomed 


THE THREE SAPPHIRES 


293 


path with the Banjara’s brother, the herdsman stood 
watching their going, repeating a tribal saying: “In 
the kingdom of men there are no boundaries.” 

When the two sahibs came out to where the Safed 
Jan Trail wound along the bed of a nala approach- 
ing the palace plateau, their guide said: “Just be- 
yond is the new cave. I will go forward to see that 
no one keeps the door, for they will not think it 
strange that I should be about. If the sahibs hear 
the small cry of a tree cricket they may come for- 
ward.” 

In five minutes the hissing pipe of a cicada came 
back to their ears, and, slipping from the jungle to 
the nala trail, they noiselessly crept to the dark portal 
that yawned to the right of their way. From the 
contour of the hill, outlined against an afterglow sky, 
Finnerty knew that they were on the reverse side of 
the jutting point that held Jadoo Cave. As they en- 
tered a gloom so intense they saw nothing, a whis- 
per reassured them, and the native’s hand grasped 
Finnerty’s fingers. The major, understanding, 
reached back the stock of his io-bore to Swinton, and 
they went forward into the blackness. Soon the 
watchman stopped and whispered: “Put out your 
hand, sahib, and feel the spot that is here.” 

By a grasp on his wrist Finnerty’s hand was 
placed upon a stone wall, and his fingers, moving up 
and down and across, detected a thin crack so truly 
perpendicular that it suggested mechanics. 

The native whispered: “One of the keys on the 
ring will unlock this that is a door.” Then he fum- 


THE THREE SAPPHIRES 


294 

bled the wall with his fingers, and presently found a 
square block of stone, saying: “The keyhole is 
within.” 

A long-stemmed key on the ring fitted the keyhole, 
but before Finnerty could shoot the bolt the native 
whispered : “Not yet, sahib.” He produced two can- 
dles and a box of matches. “Remember, sahib, that 
no man owns the light of a fire ; here is an eye that 
makes no betraying light.” And he placed in Fin- 
nerty’s fingers a slim male-bamboo rod. 

At a twist from Finnerty’s hand a heavy bolt in 
the lock glided back with noiseless ease; a pull caused 
the stone-faced door to swing forward in the same 
frictionless quiet, and beyond was a gloom as deep as 
that of the cave. 

“I will watch, sahib,” the guide whispered, “and 
if it is known that evil has fallen upon you I will 
warn the Lord Sahib ; if it please the gods that you 
come forth I will also carry to him that good tale.” 

Closing the door behind them, the two adventur- 
ers stood in a void so opaque, so devoid of sound, 
that it produced a feeling of floating in blackened 
space with the earth obliterated. Finnerty’s big hand 
groped till it found the captain’s shoulder, where it 
rested for a second in heavy assurance ; then he gave 
Swinton a candle, saying: “If we get separated ” 

They moved forward, Finnerty feeling the path 
with the bamboo rod. He hugged the wall on his 
right, knowing that the passage, skirting the hill edge, 
must lead to beneath the palace. Suddenly, shoulder 
high, the gloom was broken by a square opening, and 


THE THREE SAPPHIRES 295 

through it Finnerty saw the handle of the Dipper in 
its sweep toward the horizon. Beneath this port was 
a ledge to support a machine gun, as the major sur- 
mised. Every twenty feet were openings of different 
shapes ; some narrow, vertical slits for rifle fire. Once 
Finnerty’s rod touched a pillar in the centre of the 
passage. His fingers read grotesque figures carved 
upon its sides, and he knew they were in one of the 
old Hindu rajah’s semisacred excavated chambers. 
Twice, on his right, his hand slipped into space as 
he felt his way — open doorways from which dipped 
stone steps to lower exits. 

Suddenly his bamboo rod came dead against an 
obstructing wall in front. Set in this was a flat steel 
door, with a keyhole which admitted one of the other 
keys. Finnerty closed the door, not locking it, but 
when he had taken two steps he caught a clicking 
sound behind. Turning in apprehension, he pushed 
upon the door, but it refused to give. He inserted 
the key; the bolt was where he had left it, shot back, 
but the door was immovable. A shiver twitched his 
scalp. Had he himself touched something that auto- 
matically locked the door, or had its swing carried 
a warning to some one who had electrically shot the 
bolts? The door itself w^as massive enough to hold 
any sort of mechanism; it was like the bulkhead of a 
battleship. 

Twice Finnerty found a closed door in the wall 
on his right; no doubt within the chamber beyond 
were cannon that commanded some road of approach 
to the hill. Next his hand swept across a four-foot 


£96 


THE THREE SAPPHIRES 


space, and against the farther wall of this stood open 
a heavy teakwood door; from the passage beyond 
drifted a nauseating, carrion smell, such as hovers 
over a tiger’s cage. 

Twenty yards beyond, Swinton touched the major’s 
shoulders and whispered: “I heard something be- 
hind; I feel that we are being followed.” 

The major shivered; not through personal fear, 
but if they were trapped, if they failed, what blood- 
shed and foolish revolt would follow. To turn back 
and search was useless; they must keep on. They 
must be close to the many chambers beneath the pal- 
ace where the ammunition and guns, no doubt, were 
kept. It was ominous, this utter absence of every- 
thing but darkness. 

With a gasping breath, Finnerty stood still. A 
slipping noise in front had caught his ear, but now, 
in their own silence, they both heard the slip of vel- 
vet feet on the stone floor behind, and in their nos- 
trils struck full the carrion smell. 

“Tiger!” Finnerty whispered, and the pulled-back 
hammers of his gun clicked alarmingly loud on the 
death air. 

In ten paces Finnerty’s gun barrel clicked against 
iron; it was a door. They were trapped. Behind, 
the thing crept closer. 

“Light a candle and hold it above my head; I 
must settle that brute,” he said, in his mind also a 
thought that perhaps the light would frighten away 
the animal that trailed them. 

As Swinton struck a match it broke, its flickering 


THE THREE SAPPHIRES 


fall glinting green two devilish eyes in the head of a 
tiger that was setting himself for a spring, ten feet 
away. The roar of Finnerty’s io-bore, the two 
shocks almost in one, nearly burst their eardrums, 
and Swinton stood keyed to rigidity by the call for 
steady nerve. There was no rushing charge. A 
smothered cough from the tiger told that blood 
choked his lungs. 

A man’s voice came from the darkness almost at 
their elbow, saying: “Sahib, I am Darna Singh — a 
friend !” 

“Come here!” Finnerty answered. “But no 
treachery!” For he feared it might be an imposter. 

Darna Singh drew close, whispering: “The tiger 
is dead, so do not make a light. How did the sahib 
get here — has he keys for the door?” 

Finnerty told how the princess had sent him 
Darna’s ring of keys. 

Darna Singh explained: “I was cast in here by 
Ananda to be killed by the tiger who has been let 
down from his cage. Perhaps they do not know that 
you are here.” 

“Have they heard the gun?” the major asked. 

“The doors are very heavy, and through the rock 
they would not have heard. If they have, the key 
will not open the door if they wish.” 

Then Darna Singh told what lay beyond the door. 
The magazine was all prepared for blowing up 
should Ananda’s plan fail and there be danger of 
discovery of his imported guns. Wires ran from the 
magazine to a room in the palace, where a switch 


298 


THE THREE SAPPHIRES 


could bury everything in a second. The passages 
were lighted by electricity, and the dynamo might 
have gone wrong, causing the darkness, or it might 
be an entrapping scheme. There would not be more 
than one or two German guards at the magazine, 
where the guns were, and if the sahibs could fall 
upon these in the dark, Darna Singh could win over 
the native guards, for they did not love Ananda. 

The door opened to a key, showing beyond no 
glint of light. They passed through ; this time Fin- 
nerty, finding a fragment of rock, fixed it so that the 
door could not be closed behind them. Hope sug- 
gested that the shot had not been heard, for no 
storm of attack broke upon them. 

After a time Darna Singh checked, and, putting 
his lips close to Finnerty’s ear, whispered: “We are 
close to the gun and ammunition room. I will go a 
little in advance and speak in Hindustani to the sen- 
try; he will think it one of their natives, and as we 
talk you must overpower him.” 

Keeping within striking distance, Finnerty and 
Swinton followed. As they crept forward, with 
blinding suddenness an electric glare smote their 
eyes, and from beneath the reflected light a machine 
gun stuck forth its ugly nose. Behind a steel shield a 
German-flavoured voice commanded: “Drop your 
guns !” 

Both men hesitated. To surrender was almost 
worse than death. 

“Obey, or get shot!” the ugly voice called. 


299 


THE THREE SAPPHIRES 

“We’ll put them down, major,” Swinton said; 
“dead men are no help to the government.” 

As they laid down their guns two Prussians slipped 
into the light and picked them up. From behind the 
steel shield two others appeared, and following them 
loomed the gorilla form of Doctor Boelke, his face 
wreathed in a leer of triumph. 

At a command in German, one of the men swung 
open an iron-barred door, disclosing, as he touched 
a button, a cell ten feet square. Boelke turned to 
Finnerty: “Major, you haf intruded without der 
ceremony of an invitation; I now invite you to make 
yourself at home in der guest chamber.” 

“Your humour, like yourself, is coarse,” Finnerty 
retorted. 

“You vill enter der door, or ” Boelke waved 

a hand, and the bayonets were advanced to within 
striking distance, while the machine gun clicked om- 
inously. 

Finnerty realised that to resist was suicide; no 
doubt Boelke would prefer to have an excuse for kill- 
ing them — there was absolute murder in the bleary 
animal eyes. 

Swinton said in an even, hard voice: “The British 
government will have you shot as a German spy.” 

“Perhaps Captain Herbert vill be shot as an Eng- 
lish spy to-morrow; und now” — Boelke raised his 
arm — “ven I drop my hand you vill be shot for re- 
sisting arrest.” 

“We won’t give the hound an excuse for murder,” 
Finnerty said, leading the way through the door. A 


300 THE THREE SAPPHIRES 

German followed them in, and ran his hands over 
their bodies for revolvers ; finding Finnerty’s hunting 
knife, he took it away. The door was locked, and a 
guard placed in front of it. 

It was only now that the two noticed that Darna 
Singh had disappeared; nobody seemed to have seen 
him; he had simply vanished. Probably the guard, 
even if they saw him, took him to be one of their own 
natives — not associated with the sahibs who had 
dropped into their hands. 


Chapter XXI 


C APTAIN FOLEY sat in Doctor Boelke’s big 
chair in the doctor’s bungalow, seeing a lovely 
vision in the smoke which curled upward from 
his cheroot; he saw himself the possessor of two race 
horses he would buy when he went back to Europe 
— perhaps it would have to be in Germany — with 
the money Boelke had gone to the palace for. The 
crafty captain had demanded “money down” — the 
two thousand pounds he was to have for delivering 
the stolen paper, and that, too, before he showed the 
paper. To guard against force, he had allowed Ma- 
rie to keep the document, but Marie should have been 
in the bungalow; however, she could not be far — she 
would be in shortly. 

From where he sat at Boelke’s flat desk, Foley 
looked upon a wall of the room that was panelled in 
richly carved teakwood, and from a brass rod hung 
heavy silk curtains. On the panel that immediately 
fronted his eyes was Ganesha, a pot-bellied, elephant- 
headed god; a droll figure that caught the captain’s 
fancy, especially when it reeled groggily to one side 
to uncover an opening through which a dark, brilliant 
eye peered at him. The captain’s face held placid 
under this mystic scrutiny, but his right hand gently 
pulled a drawer of the desk open, disclosing a Mauser 
pistol. 


301 


302 


THE THREE SAPPHIRES 


When the whole panel commenced to slide silently, 
he lifted the pistol so that its muzzle rested on the 
desk. Through the opening created in the wall a 
handsome native stepped into the room, salaamed, 
and, turning, closed the aperture; then he said: “I 
am Nawab Darna Singh, the brother of Rajah An- 
anda’s princess. May I close the door, sahib?” 

Foley lifted the Mauser into view, drawling: “If 
you wish; I have a key here to open it, if necessary.” 

Darna Singh closed a door that led from the front 
hall to the room, and, coming back to stand just 
across the desk from Foley, said: “The major sahib 
and the captain sahib are prisoners of Doctor Boelkej 
they are below in a cell — they will be killed.” 

In answer to a question, Darna Singh related how 
the two men had been captured and how he, not ob- 
served, had slipped away, and, knowing all the pas- 
sages, had made his way to the stone steps that led 
from the tunnels to Doctor Boelke’s bungalow. 

Foley in his cold, unimpassioned voice asked: 
“What do you want me to do?” 

‘Save them.” 

The captain’s eyes narrowed. “They are not 
friends of mine; they searched me to-day, and if I 
play this silly game I chuck in the sea two thousand 
quid. It’s a damn tall order.” 

Darna Singh’s voice throbbed with passionate feel- 
ing: “I am a rajput, sahib, and we look upon the 
sahibs as white rajputs. We may hate our con- 
querors, but we do not despise them as cowards. I 
never knew a sahib to leave a sahib to die; I never 


THE THREE SAPPHIRES 


303 


knew a rajput to leave a brother rajput to die.” 

Foley puffed at his cigar, and behind his set face 
went on the conflict the rajput’ s appeal to his man- 
hood had stirred. 

Darna Singh spoke again : “The sahib will not live 
to be branded a coward, for his eyes show he has 
courage. And we must hurry or it will be too late, 
for these two sahibs have risked their lives to save 
the British raj against Prince Ananda’s, who is a 
traitor to the sahib’s king; he is a traitor to his wife, 
the princess, for to-morrow he will force into the pal- 
ace the white mem-sahib who is here with Doctor 
Boelke.” 

“By gad!” At last the cold gambler blood had 
warmed. His daughter Marie, eh? That was dif- 
ferent! And to funk it — let two Englishmen die! 
One an Irishman, even! No doubt it was true, he 
reasoned, for that was why Darna Singh was in re- 
volt against the prince. 

“What chance have we got?” Foley asked. 

“There will be a guard at the cage.” 

“A German?” 

“Yes, sahib.” 

“They have seen me with Doctor Boelke; perhaps 
we can turn the trick. But,” and his hard grey eyes 
rested on Darna Singh’s face, “if, when we go down 
there is no chance, I won’t play the giddy goat; I’ll 
come back.” He handed Boelke’s Mauser to the 
rajput, saying: “I have a pistol in my belt.” 

Darna Singh slid the panel, and they passed from 
the room to a landing and down a dozen stone steps 


304 


THE THREE SAPPHIRES 


to a dim-lighted passage. Here the rajput whis- 
pered: “I can take the sahib by a dark way to where 
he can see the cage in which the two sahibs will be.” 

1 “Hurry!” Foley answered, for he was thinking 
ruefully of his money. 

The underground place was a cross-hatch of many 
tunnels, and Darna Singh led the way through a cir- 
cuitous maze till they came to a bright-lighted cross 
passage, and, peeping around a corner, Foley saw, 
fifty feet away, a solitary German leaning against the 
wall, a rifle resting at his side. Raising his voice 
in the utterance of Hindustani words, Foley rounded 
the corner at a steady pace, followed by Darna Singh. 
The sentry grasped his rifle, and, standing erect, chal- 
lenged. In German Foley answered: “We come 
from the Herr Doctor.” 

The sentry, having seen Foley with Doctor Boelke, 
was unsuspicious, and, grounding his rifle tight 
against his hip, he clicked his heels together at atten- 
tion. 

“The two prisoners are wanted above for examina- 
tion,” Foley said. “You are to bind their arms be- 
hind their backs and accompany us.” 

“The one sahib is a giant,” the other answered, 
when this order, percolating slowly through his heavy 
brain, had found no objection. 

“Give me the gun; I will cover him while you 
bind his arms.” 

The sentry unlocked the door, took a rope in his 
hand, and, saying to Foley, “Keep close, mein Herr ” 
entered the cell. 


305 


THE THREE SAPPHIRES 

Finnerty and Swinton watched this performance, 
in the major’s mind bitter anger at the thought that 
an Irishman could be such a damnable traitor. 

“Will the Herr Kapitan give orders in English 
to these schweinehunds that if they do not obey they 
will be killed?” 

Foley complied. What he said was: “Major, put 
your hands behind your back; then when this chap 
comes close throttle him so quick he can’t squeak.” 

A hot wave of blood surged in a revulsion of feel- 
ing through Finnerty’s heart, and he crossed his 
hands behind his back, half turning as if to invite 
the bondage. When the German stepped close a 
hand shot up, and, closing on his windpipe, pinned 
him flat against the wall, lifted to his toes, his tongue 
hanging out from between parted lips. 

“Bind and gag him, Swinton,” Foley suggested. 

In a minute the sentry was trussed, a handkerchief 
wedged in his mouth, and he was deposited in a cor- 
ner. Outside, Foley turned off the cell light, locked 
the door, and, handing the guard’s gun to Swinton, 
led the way back to the dark passage. 

On the landing above the stone steps, Darna Singh 
silently moved the carved Ganesha and peered 
through the hole. Then whispering, “The room is 
empty,” unlocked and slid open the panel, locking it 
behind them as they entered Boelke’s room. 

The bungalow was silent. There was no sound 
of servants moving about; no doubt they were over 
at the palace, waiting for the thing that was in the 
air. 


806 


THE THREE SAPPHIRES 


Out of the fullness of his heart, Foley spoke in low 
tones: “Gentlemen, the doctor will be here shortly 
with money for me, and your presence might irritate 
him.” 

“I’ll never forget what you’ve done for us, Foley,” 
Finnerty said. 

“Neither will I if you do me out of two thousand 
quid by blathering here,” Foley drawled. 

Swinton put his hand on Foley’s arm. “Forgive 
me for what I said on the trail, and I give you my 
word that what you’ve done for us will be brought 
to the sircar’s notice ; but we’ve got to capture Boelke. 
We’ve got to nip this revolt; you know there’s one 
on. 

“Look here, Herbert,” Foley drawled, “I don’t 
mind risking my life to help out a couple of sahibs 
— a fellow’s got to do that — but I’m damned if I’m 
going to chuck away a kit bag full of rupee notes.” 

“I’ve got nothing to do with the money; that’s a 
matter you must settle with Boelke,” Swinton said 
in dry diplomacy; “but if you and the major will 
hide behind that heavy curtain and capture this enemy 
to the British raj, I can promise you an unmolested 
return to England. There’s another thing” — his 
words were hesitatingly apologetic — “we are now 
your heavy debtors and can’t make demands on you 
for that paper, but if it gets into Prince Ananda’s 
hands it will make his revolt possible. He will show 
it to the chiefs who meet him to-night.” 

“And with that I have nothing to do. I’ll deliver 
the paper to Boelke and take my money; what you 


THE THREE SAPPHIRES 307 

do to the Herr Doctor after that is no concern of 
mine.” 

With a smile, Swinton held out his hand, saying: 
“Darna Singh and I are going to blow up the maga- 
zine, but I’ll just say, thank you, for fear I get 
pipped.” 


Chapter XXII 


F OLEY and Major Finnerty took up their posi- 
tions in a corner behind a heavy curtain, Foley 
making two slits in it with a pocketknife. 
They were clear of the door leading below, and even 
if Boelke came that way he would not detect their 
presence. 

In five minutes Marie entered the room, and stood 
looking about as if she had expected to see some 
one. She wore a riding habit, and through the cur- 
tain slit Finnerty could see that her face was drawn 
and white, her eyes heavy in utter weariness. 

Almost immediately a heavy tread sounded in the 
hall, followed by the thrust of Boelke’s ugly form 
through the door. He glared about the room, and, 
crashing into his chair, asked gruffly: “Vhere is your 
fadder?” 

“I don’t know,” the girl answered wearily. 

“You don’t know! Veil, vhere is der paper?” 
“You must get it from my father.” 

“I don’t like dot; some one is a liar!” 

The girl’s silence at this brutality but increased 
Boelke’s ugliness. “Your fadder don’t trust me. 
Being a thief himself, und a traitor, he pays me der 
same compliment — he refuse to deliver der paper 
till der money is paid. Here is der rupees, und I 
308 


THE THREE SAPPHIRES 309 

vant der paper.” His heavy knuckles beat upon the 
table. 

“You must wait, then, till he comes.” 

“He toldt me you had der paper still — for fear 
he might be robbed, I suppose. Vhere is it?” 

“It is hidden.” 

“Get it; der rajah vaits.” 

The girl sat with no movement of response. Fin- 
nerty could see her face draw into a cast of resolve. 
Both he and Foley felt that it would be better to 
wait for the girl to leave the room before they rushed 
upon Boelke ; there might be shooting. 

The doctor’s rage increased. “If your fadder is 
traitor to me — if der paper is not produced in five 
minutes, I vill send out word that he be shot on sight, 
und between you two ve vill find der paper.” Boelke 
sat back in his chair with a snorting growl. 

“Listen to me, Herr Boelke,” the girl said in a 
voice clean cutting as a steel tool that rips iron. “My 
father is acting loyal to you, though he is a traitor 
to his own government. He stole that paper because 
he faced what he called dishonour over gambling 
debts, and I was blamed for taking it. I was the one 
who faced dishonour, and, through me, Lord Gilfain. 
I escaped and made my way to India under false 
names, not to help, as you thought, but to recover 
that paper and give it back to the government or de- 
stroy it.” 

“Haf you destroyed it?” 

“You will never get it, Herr Boelke. I have to tell 


310 


THE THREE SAPPHIRES 


you this — that you may know my father did not act 
the traitor to you.” 

“Ha, ha! You are as mad as your fadder. If 
der paper is not here in five minutes do you know 
vat vill happen you?” 

“I am not afraid; I took all these risks when I 
came here to clear my name.” 

“Here is der money — my time is short.” 

Twice Foley had laid a hand on Finnerty’s arm 
in restraint. 

“Never! I swear it. I am not afraid.” 

“No; like your fadder you haf not fear or sense. 
But vait. You do not fear for your own life — I know 
dot — but vill you trade dot paper for der life of 
der man you love — Major Finnerty ?” The listeners 
heard a gasp. “I mean dot. He und der udder fool, 
Svinton, is below in a cell — caught dere as spies — 
und to-morrow dey vill be shot as spies. Dey took 
care dot nobody see dem go in, und I vill take care 
dot nobody see dem come out.” 

A ghastly silence followed, only broken by the 
sound of the girl’s breathing. 

Boelke waited to let this filter through her brain 
to her heart. 

Then she said in a voice that carried no convincing 
force: “You are lying to frighten me.” 

“I vill prove it to yourself. You haf on der riding 
habit, und now I know you haf been riding to deliver 
dot paper to der major; but you did not meet him 
because he is a prisoner below.” 

Again there was the hush of a debate in the girl’s 


THE THREE SAPPHIRES 


311 


mind; then she said: “If you will bring Major Fin- 
nerty and Captain Swinton from below, through that 
door, and let them go as free men, and will swear 
to not pursue them, I will give — get the paper, 
and ” 

“Ach, Gott! You haf der paper! You put your 
hand to your breast!” 

The girl cried out, startled, frightened, as Boelke’s 
gorilla form flung his chair back. He saw the rush 
of Finnerty and threw back the drawer of his desk; 
it was empty — Foley had taken the Mauser. 

“If you open your mouth, you’re a dead man!” 
Finnerty declared; then adding, for relief: “You 
hound !” 

The girl, who had backed to the wall, dropped to 
a chair, burying her face in an arm on the desk, swept 
by a flood of confusion and relief. 

Foley transferred the packages of rupee notes to 
his pockets, saying: “I’ve delivered the paper in Dar- 
pore, and am taking my fee,” while Boelke sat blink- 
ing into a pistol that stared at him four feet away. 

Finnerty said: “We’re going to gag and bind you, 
so make no outcry.” 

When this little matter was attended to, the doctor 
was dumped into a big closet and the door locked. 

“I’ll have a look at the outside, major,” Foley 
said. “Fancy I heard some one prowling.” 

When the curtain slipped back to place, blotting 
out Foley, Finnerty gave an inward gasp; he was 
left alone with the girl whom he had heard offer to 
barter her more than life — her reputation — for his 


312 


THE THREE SAPPHIRES 


life. A dew of perspiration stood out on his fore- 
head; he trembled; the shyness that had been a curse 
to him from his boyhood made him a veritable cow- 
ard. He was alone with the girl in an atmosphere 
of love — the most dreaded word in the whole Eng- 
lish lexicon. 

Marie held the paper in her hand, looking upon it 
as though she were crystal gazing, using it as a mag- 
net to focus her own multitudinous emotions. Be- 
fore her stood a man that was like a Greek god — 
the man who had twice saved her life; though the 
saving of her life, while it would have wakened feel- 
ings of deep gratitude, could not have filled her soul 
with the passionate yearning that was there — the 
surging soul warmth that submerges everything. 

The man was like a child. Words utterly failed 
to shape themselves into a fitting coherence for utter- 
ance. He stepped to the wall and swung the little 
Ganesha panel, peering vacantly into the dark pas- 
sage. He came back and gazed out into the hall. 

“I want to tell you something ” The girl’s 

voice startled him as though he had been struck; his 
nerves were frightful. “I want to tell you,” she said 
again, a wan smile striving to master her trembling 
lips, “why I didn’t give up this paper on the trail 
to-day.” 

“I understand,” he interrupted; “it would not have 
cleared you.” 

“No; Captain Swinton would have thought that I 
had given it up under compulsion. But if I had lost 
it, all I have gone through would have been for noth- 


313 


THE THREE SAPPHIRES 

mg. That’s what frightened me so when Doctor 
Boelke discovered I had it. I did wrong in keeping 
it; I was selfish.” 

The girl’s tensed nerves were being slacked by her 
words; expression was easing the tightened coils as 
the striking of a clock unwinds the spring; the relief 
was loosening tears ; they flooded the great dark eyes, 
and one had fallen on the paper, for an instant like 
a pearl before it was absorbed. 

This trivial thing was a power that swept away 
the bondage of shyness that held the giant. He put 
his hand on the girl’s shoulder; his voice was trem- 
bling. “Marie,” he said, “I must speak — something. 
Don’t mind, colleen, if you can’t understand what I 
say, for I feel just like a boy at home in Ireland. 
I’m just mad with love for you; I can’t live without 
you. All my life I’ve been alone. I love beautiful 
things — birds and trees and flowers and animals — - 
and I’ve starved here, where all is treachery and 
work — nothing but just work.” 

It was a torrent, words trembling from the lips of 
a man whose soul was on fire, and the blue eyes had 
turned deep like rich sapphires. 

The girl rose from her chair and stood against 
the wall, holding up her hand as if she would repel 
him, crying: “You mustn’t say that; you must not! 
Oh, my God ! Why didn’t you let me die — why did 
you save my life, that I might now know the bitter- 
ness of living!” 

Finnerty recoiled. His hand caught the corner 
of the desk; his voice was husky, full of despair: 


THE THREE SAPPHIRES 


314 ? 

“You don’t — don’t — I’m too late? Is it Lord Vic- 
tor that ” 

“There is no one!” The girl’s voice was almost 
fierce. 

“What is it, then? Am I not worthy ” 

“It is I who am not worthy. You not worthy? 
And you heard, standing behind the curtain, that I 
bargained my all for your life.” 

“Yes, I heard that. Then how are you not worthy 
of the love of a man if he were a hundred times 
better than I am?” 

“You could not marry me. My father was a 
traitor, a gambler — we are the same blood.” 

Finnerty took a step forward and grasped the girl’s 
wrist. The touch steadied him. “Hush, colleen; 
don’t say that. Your father was just a brave, gen- 
erous Irishman when I knew him before the gambling 
got into his blood. Fear he did not know. He 
didn’t know how to do a mean act; he’d give away 
his last penny — the gambling got into his blood. 
Wasn’t that what got him into this? It was India 
that scorched and seared his soul — the life here. 
The others had money, and here they lavish it, throw 
it about, gamble. He tried to keep his end up, for 
he was game. He was unlucky — it was a second 
name for him in the service — ‘Unlucky’ Foley. I tell 
you it got into his blood, the wild Irish blood that 
boils so easily — that is not cold and sluggish from 
dilution from the essence of self.” 

It was curious the metamorphosis of love, the 
glamour of it that roused the imaginative sympathy 


THE THREE SAPPHIRES 


315 


of Finnerty, till, for the girl’s sake, all her geese 
were swans. And yet there was truth in what he 
said; only a Celt could have understood Foley as 
Finnerty did. 

Finnerty’s hand had taken the other wrist. He 
drew the girl’s hands up and placed them either side 
of his neck, and looked into her eyes. “Colleen, I 
love you. Nothing in the world is going to take 
you from me — nothing. I’m going to seal that with 
a kiss, and neither man nor devil is going to part us 
after that.” 

As his arms went around the girl a tremour shook 
the earth, the bungalow rocked drunkenly, they heard 
the crashing of rocks and trees somewhere on the 
plateau. 


Chapter XXIII 


I T had been easy for Darna Singh to smuggle 
Swinton through the tiger garden gate, for the 
guard were tribesmen of his own — rajputs who 
really hated Ananda. 

And now the two sat in a room of the palace, at 
Swinton’s elbow a switch that, at a shift, would send 
a current of eruptive force into the magazine. 
Through a closed lattice they looked out upon the 
terrace thronged with natives — Mussulmans, Hin- 
dus, Buddhists ; and, gazing, Swinton thought that it 
was like bringing together different explosives — a 
spark would perhaps fan a sudden mental conflagra- 
tion among these fanatics. Silence reigned — a hush 
hung over the many-coloured throng as if something 
of this held them on guard. 

Darna Singh was explaining in a whisper : 
“Ananda has called these chiefs to sign a blood 
pact against the sircar. The two men of the big 
beards are from Khyber way — Pathans whose trade 
is war; one is Ghazi Khan and the other is Dhera 
Ishmael. They will not sign the blood pact unless 
Ananda shows them the paper wherein the sircar is 
to force their young men to war. The maharajah 
will not be here, but whether he is true to the sircar 
no man knows, and sometimes, sahib, he does not 
know himself, because of the brandy.” 

316 


THE THREE SAPPHIRES 


317 


They could see Burra Moti upon her bended legs 
on the marble-slabbed terrace, a rich cloth, sparkling 
with jewels, draping her head and neck and body. 
Huge gold rings had been driven upon her ivory 
tusks. 

Darna Singh whispered: 

“Look, sahib, at the two men that stand beside 
the elephant’s neck; they are my blood brothers, and 
when we entered at the teakwood gate I told them 
of the sapphire bell. They have their mission.” 

Beyond, the Lake of the Golden Coin, rich in its 
gorgeous drape of shadow and moon gold, lay se- 
rene, placid, undisturbed by the puny man passion 
that throbbed like a ticking watch above its rim. 

The droning hum of voices, like the buzz of bees, 
died to silence, and foreheads were bowed to the 
marble floor as Prince Ananda, clothed in a coarse 
yellow robe, came forth and strode like a Roman 
senator to table at which sat with the two Pathans a 
dozen petty rajahs, nawabs, and Mussulman chiefs. 

“They are waiting to have the paper translated 
to them by a moonshi and to see the sircar’s seal upon 
it, for they all know that mark,” Darna Singh said. 

“What will happen if the paper does not come?” 
Swinton asked. 

“They will not sign the blood bond; they will 
think that Rajah Ananda has told them lies. Also 
the two men who are my brothers will place another 
lie in the mouth of Ananda, if it is Kismet, and at 
that time the sahib will blow up the mine.” 

From below the voice of Ananda came floating up 


318 THE THREE SAPPHIRES 

to their ears as he talked to the chiefs in impassioned 
words of hatred to the British raj. He told them 
of the machine guns and ammunition he had below; 
that the great German nation would send an army, 
for even now they had sent men to train the soldiers 
of the revolt. 

To Swinton it was simply the mad exhortation of 
a mind crazed by ambition, but he knew that scores 
of revolts against the British had originated in just 
this way; the untutored natives, taught hatred of the 
British from their birth, would believe every word. 

The voice of Ghazi Khan, rough as the bellow of 
a bull as it came through an opening in his heavy, 
matted beard, was heard asking: 

“Where is the paper, rajah, wherein is written 
that the sircar commands our sons to cross the black 
water to fight against the caliph and to destroy Mecca 
— even to destroy the faith of Mohammed, as thou 
hast said?” 

“We also, Rajah Darpore,” the Nawab of Atta- 
bad said, “would see first the sealed order of the 
sircar, that we, too, are forced to cross the black 
water to the destruction of our caste — to fight battles 
that are not the battle of India. Thou hast said, ra- 
jah, that it is so commanded in a state paper that 
was to have been put in the Lord Sahib’s hands as 
he sat in council in Calcutta, and though no doubt 
it is true we would see it, for war is not to be taken 
in words that are spoken.” 

Ananda explained that the paper would be brought 


THE THREE SAPPHIRES 319 

soon by his German officer, and he would show it to 
them before they signed the pact. 

Then Ananda, lowering his voice to tragic inten- 
sity, said: “It is written that if the three sacred 
sapphires come into the hand of a man it is because 
the gods have bestowed upon him wisdom and good- 
ness and power; that he is to lead. It is also written 
that if, having the three sapphires, he stand beside 
the Lake of the Golden Coin at midnight in the full 
bloom of the mhowa tree King Jogendra will ap- 
pear in his golden boat if he be selected to lead. I 
will take the ordeal to-night, for the mhowa is in 
bloom and the three sapphires have been sent.” 

Swinton saw Ananda throw open his yellow robe, 
disclosing two sapphires, and heard him say: “The 
third is here on the neck of the sacred elephant in 
a bell.” 

At that instant the booming note of a gong strik- 
ing the midnight hour came from somewhere in the 
palace. 

A dead silence settled over the people on the ter- 
race, and they turned their eyes to the waters of 
the Lake of the Golden Coin. 

Twelve times the gong throbbed as it quivered 
from a blow, and as the last whimpering note died 
away in a forest echo a circling ripple spread from 
the shadow of a pipal, and now the rippling waves 
came fast, darting here and there like serpents of 
gold or silver in the moonlight. 

Men gasped in awe ; some touched their foreheads 
prone to the marble floor as a boat of gold, its prow 


THE THREE SAPPHIRES 


320 

a serpent’s head with gleaming ruby eyes, came up 
out of the water and floated upon the surface. 

King Jogendra clothed in a rich garment, his tur- 
ban gleaming red and blue and white and gold where 
the moon flashed upon jewels, rose from a bier and 
lifted a hand as if to invoke the favour of the gods 
upon the prince who had called him from his long 
sleep. 

Even Swinton, knowing that it was but a trick of 
the German engineers, shivered as if he caught a 
fragment of the spell that almost stilled the beating 
of hearts below. 

And then from the sal forest came floating to this 
stillness of death the soft, sweet “Tinkle, tinkle, 
tinkle, tinkle, tinkle!” of the sapphire bell. 

Burra Moti threw up her trunk, uttering a cry 
that was like the sob of a frightened child, and 
cocked her huge ears. As the bell called again, “Tin- 
kle, tinkle, tinkle !” she thrust her trunk beneath her 
neck cloth ; but her fingers found no bell ; it had been 
stolen. 

With a scream of rage she surged to her feet, and, 
trampling men, throwing them to one side like bags 
of chaff with her ivory spears, she crashed through 
the table and fled. 

“Now, sahib !” Darna Singh cried. 

In answer to Swinton’s pull of the lever the pla- 
teau rose up, the palace quivered, the waters of the 
Lake of the Golden Coin swept across the terrace 
over a flattened, yellow-robed figure that had been 


THE THREE SAPPHIRES 321 

Prince Ananda, and then was sucked back to disap- 
pear through a yawning crevice. 

“Come, sahib ; there will be no revolt, for Ananda 
is dead,” Darna Singh said softly. 

Sometimes when the mhowa tree is in full bloom 
the soft tinkle of the sapphire bell is heard up in the 
sal-covered hills; then the natives whisper: 

“The spirit of Rajah Ananda rides forth on the 
Brown Elephant.” 


THE END 






a\ % . o n c 7 * * s '' . , 6 7 0 

V ' 0 0 c 0 ' V* 

^ ^ ® 4^||| « ^ o0 \ ^ ^ 

® \0 O >. rv^O& l <r 4 i> x 1 J w *> 

r >r 7 (V * o r-. y^VM 1 ^ * -K ^ V^=> s » 

^ * 0 N o 0 <0 J c <b * 








y- . > \ > 

^ , 0 v -^- y * <-\ 

0 ^' ^ *0, ^ '«'^ \* -- *-■* -’ ^ 




V * 

aV tp 

\V> t 


^ ** , 

' A % '" 7 ^ T' ' / * 

£ S c » * 0 , ' ? i> * * < 




^ \ I ft * A \ > t JJ <y 

• O’ ^ 5 * 'j j . y . o N c- ”/a 7 

^ -> 'ft y ^ _ *+ °s 


V fc *7rr.'V 


* rt o ^ * y 4 W } & V ,y 

^ w "o p , \ o»' 

.-}, 0 A'l ° r . CU V> s'" 

«* ■ - ^ww^///z 7 v ' <v w (insula 



V' o 

;. ^ <$> * 

CL v>» z 

0 o 

* -* v x - ^w'v ** - p 

4 U . , B <^ 7 o „ x * <A 

D V, * 8 k rP, y , ° N 0 

a v ^,/k^ * * , .-i? » c 

„ + V A \' s 

^ -< <P o n 


* cP o * ft 

^ \ \°' .. O. V V s s 9 9 


jO%f « A I \ ' I ./ )>fB 

Deacidified using the Bcxjkkeeper process. . , 
Neutralizing Agent: Magnesium Oxide 
» , \, n. Treatment Date: L-^R 

y 




m SEP 


1996 

BBKREEPER 

PRESERVATION TECHNOLOGIES, INC. 











N \ V W 

? . s' ^///l ' I 1^'^f \L ' *'4w , \ , \ . 

\' n 0 o 'fW** S A ? 

A <r * ' * »/> V v s s V 1 *, > Jy _ 

V- <3 ^ 


* >, ^ .< <®a? 

■ ' -'- v : "w™ 

: %'v ; > 05 , , ■» 


4 ^>X a v 4 ^fe' - ^ v 

, % X 


<£> © %// 
^ v. <?> .j *v 


r>CV 


A ^ 

>V 




is* > * * 'r. ,1-'. * * \ % ^ KV-^ 

5 * n,0 C' A- ^ \ _a- ris y >, S 

o ’ ^ 0 fr n ^ ^ » I ' ^ \V s * * , <*>. ’ N 0 

,A *■ - %. *^ fl - •> a ~ , 

^ * rf{\ ss /K a </* A‘ o -:-4 r .. - ^t- .c 

| z ^r *; 


% ^ 


0 * >A A 


c * ^ 




<* 'J> 


x° *, 


•1 


•e. , * 

•*f o'' ~^rl* 

^ iA* V. ' 


y 0 <* V * A 

' 1 B * 'Cp A . o * <■ 

'I -p -A^> c 

^ ' % A r 
A f 


° x° °c “ & 


..- V ^\..,*e./*.,T>’* •'• 

V * S /Kc * > 

s <i- 


C5 


c <J ln 

* / 





<cr 

0 K 0 ^ ^ V 

■Ok _ -, 


c o ^ 

< ^ts to a \ \ \ \’ 

* 0 /• ^C‘ \> 

a t> r r ^, * 'J^», 

% cV • -';r ,^' . 

,S‘ C r>. 



r, : 

^ ^ o 

• - v a c o - >v-^; 0 / •'• ; v c— 

,•0 ■» c-C^V ^ O 0 ^ 4&jY7?^r> y, -V- * 

^ 0 x ; - +*■ v* = 

#' A -TV 'O®- 

V ^ ^>W.’ 


C* ^ V o^' 

o*. »m‘ \ v s * , 7 

0 / % V\"\, ' 

„ « yp . . J$'C 'fe 

1 ^ r - s> .v. * ■ 7 ^r~'’. 

I ^ ” * r» . v\ . * -j! 1 1 :t 'kO-i' 


/y ^ . 0^ 


O </', ,-\> 
7 '\ V 


' A° ^ 

: * 



& s 
O '0 



ry / ”',,/r S 

* A o> ** , S s A o 

A x c° N « O. f 0 - ■ 

to rl r^f\. / '_> l » 




C *r». 






